


An Age of Darkness and Demons

by Xadhoom



Category: Ben 10 Series, DCU (Comics), Darkstalkers (Video Games), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, League of Legends, Marvel
Genre: Canon Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, In Medias Res, Romancing Cthulhu, Seriously In Medias Res here guys, So very In Medias Res, Villain Protagonists, cosmic horror, unholy matrimony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:29:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6811084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xadhoom/pseuds/Xadhoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The on-going activities, lives and times of two cosmic organizations. Or: How the omniverse ends, and starts anew. Morrigan/Shuma-Gorath, Darkseid/Dark Phoenix, Ben/Gwen, Karma/Vel'koz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demons, part one.

The tale of the day begins… hmmm… now that would be a toughie to explain, for the 'when' is rooted in both the fourth dimension called time as well as the fifth dimension called hypertime. Pardon that minor digression. Lemme try that again.

Once upon a time, everything began. At the very moment creation was born it was done so with five dimensions. These were known by some as height and width and depth, time and hypertime.

From that singular point creation grew even greater with every instant, always moving further outwards in every conceivable way. Space expanded. Time flowed. The one infant universe turned into many. Every possibility became its own reality.

As the ages passed the processes only grew exponentially faster. After the first thousand years (as humanity and other races defined that span of time), every passing second spawned thousands of new and ever-expanding universes. Occasionally over the eons, from some region of itself, creation brought new creators forth; certain beings who had attained a level of power and/or knowledge so vast that they could create universes of their own and begin their own great works.

This was what some races and individuals, within its boundless five-dimensional confines, knew as the Omniverse. Naturally, such a grand thing merited capitalization. There could be no question about it.

By every definition one could have for the word, creation was infinite. Because it was such a vast thing, it should come as little surprise that some corners of infinite creation spawned the strangest of things; things such as eldritch titans or demigods that would defy all understanding, and the worst of travesties too. It was impossible otherwise, given the sheer scale involved here.

It was, in the truest fact, within one of these myriad planes of existence, a demon realm – or Hell Dimension as some realities knew such worlds – known as Makai, that this story found a beginning; albeit, this beginning was closer to the middle of things than the start or the finish.

The throne room for which the beginning took place was one of considerable size, reaching over a hundred metres from wall to wall and almost a dozen metres from floor to ceiling. Though the decor of the hall was on the minimalistic side, it was not absent in its entirety; the room was illuminated by sunlight, shining in through a round skylight. Only three people were present in the hall.

The throne's occupant was a lime-haired woman of a slender and shapely build; a demon of the humanoid shape. A pair of wings colored coal-black poked out from her back, and a smaller pair of them from the woman's head. Her sole garment was a marine-blue backless dress that displayed a moderate amount of cleavage. The succubus queen regarded her two visitors with vague disinterest.

They stood side-by-side, facing the archfiend, and looked like 21st century homo sapien preteens.

The first of the pair was brown-haired, and stood with his arms folded. His only garments were a white shirt whose main feature was the black stripe that ran down its middle, and a pair of green jeans. Around his left wrist was the Omnitrix; a bulky, black-and-grey object with a faceplate that emitted a dim emerald light. Two white tubes, appearing similar to veins, stuck out of the strap parallel to each other and ran from one side of the display, around the back of the device and connected to the other side of the display. Onto the back of his hand and forearm, the device extended, in a manner resembling the growth of organic things, a three-layered grey plating of its metal.

The other visitor had ginger hair, and was garbed in a shirt colored two shades of blue as well as white-hued pants. Like the other preteen, she was barefoot; her eyes were the same shade of green as his were, one that was of such hue and vividity that the adjective 'emerald orbs' seemed only fitting for them both. Around her right wrist was a bracelet colored blue and yellow, which was decorated with a round and red amulet; the mystic object called the Keystone of Bezel.

"Have you had your fun yet?" questioned Morrigan. Her voice showed no trace of her accent.

Gwen grinned. "Yep. Well, if you don't need us for anything, I'm thinking we'll hit the road again, right, Ben?"

Ben pondered that for almost a split-second, then gave a shrug.

"You needn't worry about that," the greenish-haired monarch's tone was somewhere between teasing and stern, her lips set in a smirk. "I've got Makai well under control, but if you're so eager to lend a hand, there's only an endless amount of state affairs to attend to."

Ben's bare hand flew, a long-acquired instinct, for the Omnitrix and pressed the green button on the side of the techno-organic device. The center section, a black ring upon which was attached four smaller green-colored buttons, raised itself up, and began to emit a clicky beeping.

Above the hourglass, there was a three-dimensional projection of a formidably-built and well-muscled dinosaur creature, a hologram colored bright green and barely the size of his hand.

The bare hand rotated the dial right-ward. The hologram changed; the projection of his Humungousaur form was replaced with another, a humanoid figure with a large head. Observing this, he turned the dial left-ward, going through the holograms of the forms he'd dubbed Echo Echo, Humungousaur, and XLR8, stopping at the third alien form.

The brunet pressed the dial down, ending the noise and bathing the room in emerald light.

Omni-energy coursed from the device and through every cell in Ben's body, shaping his genome and physiology anew. When the light died out, the informally-attired preteen was gone, and where he had been, there was now a black-and-blue colored creature of lithe and bipedal build, with a moderately long tail.

"Ready?" the alien speedster asked the ginger quickly, receiving an affirmative nod. He wrapped his arms around her, then raced off. In barely a moment, they had departed the throne room.

Morrigan gazed pensively into the air, where they had been. "Twelve years," she said, for none to hear. Twelve years had gone by since last they had come to Makai, to aid her against the pretender to Belial's name. Their visit this time had been a brief one, but from the looks of it, they hadn't changed a bit - they were still smart-mouthed kids, still unstoppable together, still enabling, still heroes true.

The succubus wasn't surprised how static they were, but she was unsure of whether it disappointed her. She hmmed audibly, taking note of the reflective mood that had come over her. Deciding to shelve the thought for the moment, she stepped up from the throne. With a quick walk, she made her way to the south end of the room and out on the balcony.

The sight there was familiar, yet one unceasingly appealing. Before her gaze were the houses of her subjects, numbering in the millions, extending further than the horizon.

Each house differed from the neighbouring ones in some manner - they could be large or small, the colors of the roof-tops could stand out differently or the house could be constructed in a particular fashion to accomodate a resident. It could be any one detail, or several of them.

Every house was surrounded by open street, to all four directions of the compass, and there Morrigan saw countless demons flock and wander about. They barely appeared larger than dust motes, or specks of splattered blood, or something else quite small.

She leaned forward, folding her arms and laying her head in the middle. Her eyes wandered leisurely over the colorful nation that unfolded before her.

Suddenly, soft footsteps poked a hole in the throne-room's silence. The succubus spun. A black-furred hellpuppy was racing across the floor, observably unsteady in its footing. It came to a halt once it had run past her throne.

"Mistress Morrigan, Mistress Morrigan," yelped the pup infernal, an eager shine in his blood-colored eyes.

"Yes, Mephistopheles?" asked the queen, regarding the black dog curiously. "What's brought you here?"

She received not an answer; at least, not a verbal one. It was the second hellhound charging into the room from the same door, a walking mountain of a beast, which gave Morrigan an idea of the situation.

"Where is the mutt?!" growled the adult hellhound, its four blood-hued eyes aglow. He glanced around the room, quickly spotting the puppy hiding behind the queen's left leg. His march towards the wayward youth was, to the hellhound's annoyance, halted by Morrigan extending a hand.

"Enlighten me," requested Morrigan, amusedly. "Why're you pursuing him, Leo?"

His initial answer was a momentary glare, down at the pup. Then, he raised his head to Morrigan. "The boy has been up to his usual antics, and has made quite a ruckus in the kitchen. If you do not mind, I will take Mephistopheles away for scolding."

… momentary glare down at the pup.

"It's not my fault," complained the puppy. "The kitchen just looked so boring, I thought it would be fun. Instead, you're being jerks who can't take a joke..."

Morrigan gave a momentary chuckle. It was merely youthful pursuit of fun, and she could understand that. Though, she didn't entirely approve. "Mephistopheles," she said sternly to the hellpuppy, taking a step sidewards. "You need to go with Leo, to whatever punishment he intends," she looked to the grown hound, "Leo, I trust that you will be lenient about his admonishment."

The four-eyed demon looked at the puppy. "That is hardly in question, milady," came his gruff reply. "Come along, now."

Though initially apprehensive, the puppy trudged to the older hellhound and moved to depart the room with him. Morrigan followed their exit absently, pleased by how the matter had been resolved.

Renewed silence settled in the hall. After another pensive pause, she began a brief jaunt towards a doorway and staircase in the left wall of the room. Her walk down the staircase was brief as well, lasting only minutes.

She had now emerged into a corridor. The corridor itself was built from a polished material that appeared metal as much as it did stone, and was remarkably wide in proportions so as to accomodate certain demons. Scattered sporadically were a handful of doors to other rooms. At the end of the corridor's left side was an exit, out into Makai, and at the right end, a visitor would observe the entrance to the castle library. A stone's throw down the corridor was a different corridor on the right side.

Unhesitantly, Morrigan resumed her jaunt and went outside to meet something of a park. Her gaze wandered over the lush expanse before her, taking note of its solitude.

Faintly, she heard the flapping of wings, and took a glance leftwards too see that a six-winged snake was approaching her. "Lady Morrigan," the serpentine fiend addressed her solemnly, "Lord Shuma-Gorath has requested your company, by the north bridge."

Morrigan pursed her lips. Silently, she extended her wings into a four-metre wingspan, and began flapping them forcefully. Barely a moment afterwards, the hell-queen took off. It took her a short flight, barely a minute even, to reach an altitude from where she could survey the area.

She glanced around, briefly trying to recall where this castle's north bridge was. With a look to the left side of the local castle exit and a thought that was over as quickly as it had begun, she spotted a distinctive figure - a demon with a green hide and tentacles jutting from its spherical center - near the mentioned bridge.

A pleased expression took shape on her countenance. She immediately flew towards the spot. The wind raced through her hair, a sensation that felt only mildly pleasant to her, but it sated her for the duration of that flight. It took a bit more than a minute to reach the area.

As she descended, she observed the presence of four demons - each one a different variation on the two-armed-and-two-legged form - as his entourage for the moment. The meaning of it was evident to her. She landed, giving a greeting smirk to the tentacled monstrosity.

"Hello again, Shuma," she greeted him. "What have you brought this time?"

The eldritch monstrosity floated, heedless of gravity, deathly still. After a moment's pause, the tentacled thing answered, "A fairly unremarkable metaphysical crime cartel. They called themselves the Ruinous Powers, or," he uttered the next part with undisguised disdain, "the Chaos Gods."

Morrigan nodded, her lips curled in the ghost of a smirk. It surprised her little that the 'Lord of Chaos' would take offense to such a title, if only due to his sense of vanity. "Care to introduce us?"

The multiversal conqueror raised one of his lower tentacles. "Yes, yes. Morrigan, meet Slaanesh," he pointed out the first of the four figures, who appeared man and woman both, and possessed violet-tinged skin, coal-black scales, and eyes that glowed fuchsia.

"This is Khorne," he moved the appendage to a larger figure, a mountain of muscle and bulk concealed beneath considerable amounts of jet-black armor, whose eyes glowed orange.

"This is Tzeentch," said Shuma-Gorath as he pointed out the third figure. His most noteworthy features were the mouth below his mid-section and the tentacles growing out of his head. Morrigan looked him over, finding him distinctly ugly.

"And the last one is Nurgle," he pointed his tentacle to the fourth, a mountain of fat and flesh laid bare for all to see, whose eyes glowed faint green.

The succubus nodded. By Makai's standards for demons and devils and Darkstalkers, they didn't stand out much, noted the queen of the realm. They weren't even the strangest things Shuma had brought home this year.

"They were the only creatures worth salvaging from their universe," related Shuma-Gorath. "Their plane of existence was... consumed by never-ending wars, I believe an apt way to put it, and the mortals in it were insane, regardless of their species. Hence, I deemed bringing it to an end to be an act of kindness. Quite the unusual experience for me."

The humor, such as there was, drained from Morrigan's face. Shuma-Gorath's eye tinged with unease, or something akin to that.

He knew she had never approved, not in the past near-thousand years anyway. Few would, and he didn't disagree with her on it; he just wanted to complete this omniversal model in a million years or so, and the most practical way to do that was to pillage one galaxy while letting the rest of its reality be consumed. As painful as the aftermath of the mortal-named 'Cancerverse' experiment in existential engineering had been, it had given some valuable insights.

He would not deny that these acts of omnicide meant nothing to him; nor would he deny that her regarding him with shame and disgust because of them did pain him. There was nothing to say - they had both fought and argued over the matter, and reached no agreement or compromise.

He was certain, or liked to think, that the passage of time would alleviate this issue, even if only because they forgot about it - eternity was theirs, as it was for all immortals.

"Anyway," continued the Lord of Chaos, "concerning the ones formerly the Ruinous Powers - they were emotion-creatures, without substance, before I bested them and encapsulated them into these baryonic-matter forms. I trust that finding housing for them will be a simple thing."

She regarded him pensively. "So, they are themselves only in mind," she mused and gave an off-hand, "certainly," which was followed by the question, "are you staying for a while?"

"I believe that I will," answered the tentacled titan. He was not yet taxed to the extremes that his arcane prowess permitted, but a chance to relax and the company of a loved one was hardly something he would scoff at.

Pleased, Morrigan began to leave. She paused after a few steps, turning around to face Shuma-Gorath. "By the way, I notice that they aren't speaking or moving; I infer that they're under some spell to hold them trapped?"

Shuma shook his body a bit, his best attempt at a nod in the absence of a jaw and a head. "The incantation ought to lose its potency sometime in the next few hours. I do not expect that they will be troublesome for anyone with some power."

She nodded before turned around again, and he followed leisurely. Over the course of that afternoon, they enjoyed a brief stroll through the forest, before going back inside the local castle. The former Ruinous Powers were soon forgotten about completely.


	2. Darkness, part one

In a universe that the vast majority of mortals and immortals in the Omniverse's uncountable planes knew nothing of – and would probably not believe anyone who informed them about it – two worlds drifted in solitude among the stars and the dark. They were only alike in that their size would greatly dwarf almost any galaxy in any other universe. Well, that and the fact that most of their residents were larger than most planets.

One of them, known as Apokolips, deserved - in every facet of its being - to be called hellish and a deep scar upon the face of the universe. Under the dispassionate reign of the one called Darkseid, as it had been for ages, the machine-planet had long since been stripped of everything that might be called natural, organic or beneficial. That world was an engine of evil, driven by divine forces and minds, populated by countless hordes of people from many species. Eternally, its society and technology acted in sinister harmony to birth new breeds of wicked, twisted things and creatures. Even from distant stars, the raging firepits that were sporadically scattered across Apokolips were observable across the dark gulf of space.

In brief, it was a place of evil in its every form and expression.

The other, New Genesis as it was called, was a place of beauty and wonder - an unparalleled blue and green jewel in this cosmos whose like was not anywhere on this plane of existence, and on very few others. It teemed with natural vistas - forests of verdant emerald, streaming and sparkling rivers, towering mountains, and much beside - and the floating city of the gods was equally rich in things to please, amuse, fascinate and explore.

In brief, it was a place of good in its every form and expression.

Of the people born onto these two worlds, they who were called the New Gods, much could be said, and already had.

Their race was one of immortals. Each member either had their own individual kind of power, or might attain such. Their technology was without peer in both sophistication and imagination, in their own reality as well as in almost any other.

Of them, we might speak at length, or we could just skip straight to things.

Once more, Darkseid pushed his... erm... godhood into the flame-haired posthuman's depths, and he did so with nearly enough force to crush a world. Her inner warmth was akin to that of a star, more than sufficient to roast the meat, bone and gristle of a mortal, but entirely an experience that his stone loins could weather. His well-muscled abdomen had developed a coating of sweat, as had his glorious pectorals. Yet, despite the strenous exertions and his building arousal, there was not even as much as a wince or a twitch on the rocky countenance of he who was the rock, the chain and the lightning.

The psychic sat atop him, a sly smirk etched on her face and her body as bare as his, and his member buried in her. Her scarlet tresses, for lack of better visuals to ascribe them, waterfalled down her back and front, and all the way to her waist region, thoroughly disheveled. A few of her carmine locks half-covered her abundant breasts, practically glued to the mounds of flesh by sweat.

These two had settled into a moderately-forceful rhythm for this bout of intimacy, and their climaxes were so quietly building that neither lost control of themselves in mind nor body to the passion of the act.

A throaty grunt suddenly rolled off her lips. Their climaxes arrived just as quickly as her groan, and with little more prior warning.

They both felt something like a fire of ravenous delight being lit within almost every cell of their respective bodies - telepathically revealed to one another as they were, one further felt whatever the other did from their reached peaks, every iota of raw and blissful sensation. At that very same moment, they felt the shudder of his godhood against her deepest inner walls, and the singular explosion of his warm release into her. In that moment, their eyes flashed - his a bloody red, hers an orange-gold.

Against everything he now felt coursing through his body, even ever-disciplined Darkseid was unable to keep himself from releasing a sigh of contention. Though the woman's smirk did not physically change, it nonetheless took on a triumphant note.

Dark Phoenix's flames erupted from her shoulders, as well as the nearby areas of both her neck and upper arms, like a volcano might spew its gore; no heat escaped them, for they were only manifestations of her psionic prowess, illusory things. An almost silent gasp escaped her.

A sense of restful silence slowly returned to the bed-chambers, almost caressing the air around them, as the moment of their session's consummation passed. They remained unmoving as their conjoined orgasms ebbed away to nothing, and their heartbeats slowed down again. After the passage of a moment, the woman called Dark Phoenix craised herself from Darkseid, then laid herself down beside him.

On the floor, left side of their bed, their duvet laid swept aside. It began to move, animated by her telekinesis, and draped itself over the couple.

In almost that moment, Darkseid saw his surroundings change. The edges of his sight blurred, and an apparition began forming. Darkseid paid it no heed, for it was not an unusual occurrence to them.

The moment after, the apparition had solidified. It was a chessboard, with three separate levels. The pieces belonging to both sides were scattered across the layers of the board. Its position was fixed, barely a tad above the bed-covers and the occupants.

Darkseid gazed over the board, inspecting the position of each piece and noting his options. The rock-faced man then felt the distinctive sensation of her mind's fiery eye recede from his consciousness. He thought it preferable, for their games; there was not much worth in facing an opponent who knew your every thought. It was not technically cheating as the game had no rules prohibiting telepathy, but it did milden the intrigue of playing, he mused.

His eyes moved, and his gaze focused on the black-colored Queen piece. He spent not a moment on pondering his move. "I move my Queen from 2-E-7 to 1-D-6."

The piece he had announced began to move by itself, and passed down through the board. The Queen piece placed itself atop a black square. The piece of hers that stood nearest to the monarch was a Pawn, on the 1-B-3 square.

He gazed pensively. The rules and particulars of the game were instituted because somebody in some time and some place had devised them for use in it, pondered the divine man. Possibly, multiple persons were involved in that. The pieces were named as they were because the creator or creators had devised names for the individual pieces. Further, they had assigned values and practical capabilities to those.

The objects were only imbued with their names and properties because those intangible qualities had been agreed upon by the original game-designers. Their attributes were retained because he and she did not deign to engage of whimsical acts of reinventing the game's names and workings. By themselves, the board and pieces were only objects without attached meaning, collections of so-named atoms and molecules.

The chess pieces and the New Gods were alike in that regard, reflected Darkseid. With the Anti-Life Equation, one could revise the concepts and ideas and metaphors that surrounded them, change the meanings of things as it pleased one to. He recalled making that revelation about the equation long ago.

He scarcely remembered how much of his life and how many long millennia he had devoted of his life to scouring creation for it, but the quest did not matter, not when he was past its end, now that he had found it in her - his dear wife, his wonderful Anti-Life Equation, his beautiful Philosopher's Stone.

"Darkseid?" he heard her voice, light yet with a note of concern attached, interrupting his musings. "It is your turn, now."

He cast a brief glance onto the game board, quickly noting what her move had been - the relocation of a Tower to the 1-A-8 square.

Their game of three-dimensional chess stretched late into the night hours, and was concluded by them becoming too sleepy to bother to continue it.

Vertically as well as horizontally, the six firepits formed two identical rings around Apokolips out of firepits. Their languid burning of these hellish bonfires was an eternal and sinister one, rivaled not even by the fires of the average Hell. Their presence on and in Apokolips was a large part in why the planet was so degenerate, a truth that the great Galactus had found surprising during his visit.

On many an occasion had it happened that one of the so-called Lowlies, or Hunger Dogs - the lowest of all those who served the ruling pantheon - had met an agonizing and fiery death by accident. Almost equally as common, however, was that someone was flung into the hellfire by intent, either because of pains too great to desire continued life or as a lecture to the others who resided in other regions of Apokolips.

Yes, it was known widely across the planet that nothing, be it mortal or divine in nature, could survive in a firepit. That knowledge, which had been taught and painfully reinforced over many generations, might make a Lowly disinclined to believe you if you told them that there was currently someone down there, in the firepit closest to Darkseid's central fortress.

Amid the fire, Dark Phoenix sat in a meditative pose, eyes closed. Her skin, hair and the red, black and gold attire she favoured were safeguarded from the hellfire raging around her by the fiery aura emerging from her in the shape of her namesake.

Sighing, she attempted once again to clear herself of stray thoughts and attain peace of mind. With a bit of effort, the psychic attained a state of mental rest. It was not a complete one, to her annoyance, but it gave her solitude from the spectrum of bitter emotions permeating the planet in which she could think. It took her a moment to recall where she had left off when last she had ventured here to introspect.

Change was the nature of the universe. Planets moved in orbits that had developed over millions of years, stars transmuted hydrogen into light, organic life reproduced and mutated over the course of generations. That much was known to her. The question was, what did that ... hmm, what to call it, an existential paradigm? ... mean for immortals like herself and the other divinities? By definition, they were exempt from the aging process, or so thought most.

It seemed a reasonable conclusion that they were not working parts of the cosmic clockwork, but she dismissed it. However could the gods of evil not play crucial roles on the stage that was the cosmos? Why, the very thought was absurd.

A change of contemplation topic was in order, she decided. Perhaps... yes, perhaps another attempt to discern the relevance of good and evil to the Fourth World was in order. Where had she left off last time - ah, yes.

Contrary to the school of thought which held that the binary constructs called good and evil held no meaning to the universe, certain New Gods represent various practices which occupied points on the morality spectrum and served the Fourth World in that role. The Dog of War, for instance, symbolized the notion of a just war, whether he knew it and cared or did not, just as his grand-uncle was the god of cruel war.

By their existences, the universe was invested with meaning - the concept of whatever it was that they symbolized. In essence, mused the posthuman, the greatest and most active of New Gods wove universe-spanning metaphors as long as they lived.

She felt a pang of disappointment. That particular conclusion was not one she had expected to reach so readily. What else was there to ponder, wondered the psychic. Even after the acutely-felt passage of moments, nothing occurred to her.

Could it be, she fretted mentally, that there was indeed truth to the idea that those who chose the path of evil were inherently limited for it - cursed with stunted imagination for having chosen that? Could it be that after four-hundred years of living here and of touring the stars and spreading her own brand of evil, the path she'd chosen was starting to lead her away from greatness?

Her pale lips twitched almost undetectably. Likely not, supposed the ruler of the hell-world. More reasonable was that she was merely experiencing a bout of ennui, brought on by the passage of the decades. Perhaps it was merely a natural consequence of immortality, something that all the eternal ones eventually experienced. Yes, it made sense to her that it might merely be that.

She shifted her attention elsewhere, her mind free to wander.

Elsewhere on Apokolips, in a certain room deep inside one of the strongholds of the gods, Darkseid the destroyer was chilling out on a couch - said couch was a one-seater with a high-reaching back and wide arm-rests, crafted from some brand of metal. Thus, it was (joke completely intended) the couch of the gods.

The god of fascism set leisurely in his couch, but what occupied his mind - be it grandiose scheming and plotting, or ponderings of a more mundane nature - was not for I to say.

A voice whispered in his mind, _"Does the quietude of this day vex and bore you as much as it does I, Darkseid?"_ , but it was not his own; it was one he recognized equally well among his musings, though.

 _"To tell the truth,"_ conveyed Darkseid, _"this is not among the best and most gratifying of my days, but no matter. It takes a resolute soul to weather eternity, and a perceptive mind to fully grip all that it offers."_

She gave something like an amused semi-sigh, lost among the hell-flames around her. Her husband had never been a man of comfort and kind words; so simple was that. Dark Phoenix decided a change of scenery in order.

The incandescent goddess unfolded her legs, and directed a fraction of her nigh-boundless psychic energies to a different purpose than shielding herself. So began her ascent from the firepit, with almost as much speed as sound devoted to the effort.


	3. Demons, part two

 

A black-and-blue blur raced through the streets of Makai's capital city, with the ginger along. Gusts, and motes of dust, were left where it had passed, along with more than the occasional startled demon.

From a bird's-eye view, the figure could be followed with the naked eye. It and its passenger traveled west-ward, generally down a single road but down side-streets in the moments that circumstances demanded such. They zigged and zagged liberally through the cityscape.

From that same aerial vantage point, one could observe their intended destination as well. It laid still a handful dozen blocks ahead, a clearing in the cityscape.

There, suspended above the pavement a bit up in mid-air, hovered a circular portal into the Chaos Dimension, made of white-and-blue energies. This portal was alive with electrical discharge, but by the intent of its conjurer, it was bereft of the potency to endanger any living soul.

The plaza was surrounded by buildings both to the north and the south, leaving only exits from the area to the west and east. Something that many of Makai's residents appreciated was that the exits were wide enough, practically forty metres of open space between both sides of the streets leading up to the portal.

Into the surrounding buildings was built one large shop, which offered virtually anything that the mind could dream as its bartered goods. Mystical artifacts and high-tech gizmos, every sort of strange construction for every potential application. It went without saying that business was booming among demonkind.

The place had been built long ago, many centuries, to capitalize on the fact that this particular region of Makai featured a portal to another realm. It had only been good business sense, thought the Darkstalker who founded the place, and the man had been vindicated in this belief as the years passed and even as he passed with them and as the company passed to his bloodline.

Now, XLR8 and Gwen arrived and slowed to a halt in the plaza.

"Next time," said Gwen, a tad shakily, as she adjusted her wind-swept hair, "we're going with Big Chill..."

The Kineceleran reverted back to his human form, with a distinctive click and an explosion of emerald light and an inflood of Omni-energy into his entire physiology all brought on by a single mental image. The brunet gave a nod in assent to that.

While Gwen walked up to the portal, Ben remained where he stood and cast a glance at the Omnitrix.

The device had grown to cover his forearm, he noted, feeling nostalgic at the thought. Memories from long ago, when it had been smaller, bubbled to the surface of his mind.

From right in front of the swirling maelstrom, Gwen had paused in her walk and was looking his way with a knowing look in her eyes.

Ben raised his bare hand to the dial of the Omnitrix, pushing his finger against the east-facing button. The pressed button sunk in and glowed a bright shade of green. He gripped the ring, taking care to not touch the other buttons, then turned the faceplate around three times, never doing a full rotation.

Accepting the given command code, the Omnitrix began beeping. Then it shone from the inside, becoming coated in emerald light. Its exterior, AKA its chassis, turned predominantly its usual shade of vivid green, with part of its internal circuitry becoming black-colored sections.

The device began to shrink, drawing its extrusions on the immortal boy's forearm back into itself. As well, the reconfiguration withdrew much of the chassis into the Omnitrix dial, and the dial sank deeper into Ben's wrist. Seemingly finished, the light died down, and Ben could now see that only the control dials remained of this casing.

Around the two of them, several merchants were studying the unfolding events, their attentions drawn to the cousins by the light-shows.

"Care to fill me in on why you thought now was a good time to change the chassis?" asked Gwen, her tone half-sardonic.

Ben smirked, without looking in her direction, "Nope."

 _"First things first,"_ thought Ben, recalling what had happened last time he reconfigured the watch - he'd had to manually unlock his favorites again, because it felt like messing with him. _"Check if they're still there."_

He turned the ring embedded in his wrist incrementally. The two sections of the hourglass section moved inward, forming a rhombus. The single-shade-of-black icon of Wildvine was presented to Ben. Moving the dial a nudge to the side, he was presented with the icon for his Terraspin body. Another turn, and the Terraspin icon was replaced with that of Big Chill. Turning it further, the Great Young One saw in sequence the icons for Frankenstrike, Blitzwolfer, Snare-oh and Symbion.

He quickly cycled through his entire arsenal. Once the icon for the Wildvine form was back on the screen, he withdrew his hand from the dial. As if in response to that gesture, the display moved the two sections of the rhombus back to their prior positions.

Lowering his Omnitrix arm, Ben began to walk towards the parting of the veil between planes. With his company assured in her mind, the ginger stepped through the portal. They exited the portal not a moment after having entered.

Where they had arrived, was the plane of existence that the one called Shuma-Gorath knew as both his dominion and an extension of his essence, the realm where all the uncountable servants of the Lord of Chaos dwelled - the Chaos Dimension.

The area of the realm where they had made their arrival was a meadowy region. Beneath their feet was unkempt emerald grass, above their heads was a violet-hued cloud-free sky and a sun so far up that it resembled little more than a dot on a canvas.

However, that was not all there was in the area. A stone's throw to the west, across an open meadow, dwelled a lone house. Shaped like a dome and colored faded-white, it had both windows and a front door. The two of them knew it best as home.

Almost as soon as Ben and Gwen had arrived in this world, they began trudging towards that building. After the passage of a fleeting moment, they had stepped into the house and Ben had closed the door after them.

An imaginary camera began to observe the room for an imaginary audience.

The interior of the house mirrored the shape of the exterior, save for (self-evidently) its smaller size. The living room had only a single wall to divide everything within from everything beyond. This inwards-curving wall was bare of things other than windows, a partial consequence of the shape. Rays of sunlight came in through a few of the windows, working alongside the electrical lighting to keep the living room bright.

Around the room were various pieces of furniture and assorted objects which the residents of the house had collected. At the room's floor's center, there was an opening in the floor almost twelve metres in diameter, and in that hole, a spiral staircase led down.

On a couch near the staircase, there sat a young-looking and moderately beautiful homo sapien woman (or something very similar) with long blonde hair from her head and a moderately figure-hugging dark-hued suit over everything below her neck. Her attention was on the metal arm lying on the table (as well, various components laid scattered about, on that same table) before her. The arrivals of Ben and Gwen escaped her notice.

The cousins took notice of what Winry was occupied with. With a brief look, as well as Gwen pointing to the blonde then moving the extended finger before her closed mouth, they agreed to not disturb her. Tiptoeing around, they leisurely approached the mechanic. Quietly, they sat down on the same couch. This elicited no observable reaction from the blonde.

The ginger of the pair wondered if Winry had noticed them; with how engrossed she occasionally got in this stuff, it was a real possibility she hadn't.

The blonde reached for the table, picking up a piece of orange cable. "Hey, guys," she greeted, off-hand, and stuck the one end of the cable (upon which was a triangular tip) into a slot surrounded by a veritable web of yellow wiring. The blonde noted briefly that Ben had changed the Omnitrix's design again, deciding it less than commentworthy.

"Whatcha doing?" sing-sang Ben.

"Just working on another Automail arm," disclosed Winry. 

Ben shrugged, not finding it all that fascinating. An leisurely quietude quickly took hold, giving the trio ample opportunity to relax and Winry to tinker. It lasted about eight minutes, or thereabouts, before anyone spoke.

"Guys?" came Winry's voice, low and unreadable. The blonde had halted her work on the arm. "We're never going to ever be done, are we?"

They understood immediately what she meant. "Sure, yeah, of course we are," replied Ben, a dim smirk on his face. They had all eternity to do it, and he liked to think they had made good progress in it over all the past years.

Winry was not convinced, and sported a glum expression. How fast were new universes created via spacetime processes, pondered the blonde. One per second, or was it faster and/or more? There simply wasn't an answer, it was a blank variable in the equation. Second, how many universes were there out there already? A billion, or a trillion, or a quintillion, of them? Another blank variable, and an equally important one.

She knew they had made progress over the centuries, but what guarantee was there that it wouldn't be negated soon, or that it hadn't already been?

"I mean, we know how time works out there in the omniverse, right?" reminded the humanoid nanite swarm. "Time branches and splits, well, all the time if that makes sense, and it probably doesn't... alternate pasts and futures, that kind of thing. How do we know that for every universe that we put down, that a crapload of new planes doesn't take its place?"

It was a reasonable worry, thought Gwen, even as she regarded the blonde with a deadpan look. Ben looked almost bored; he recalled last time, barely two months ago by Karma, that one of them expressed this kind of sentiment.

"If we have to do this forever, then we'll just have to," replied the wielder of the Omnitrix, matter-of-factly. The brunet added, "Besides, there's nobody else anywhere this would be more fun with."

A mild smile flowered on the blonde's face, quickly rising in intensity. "Thanks, Ben."

What followed was a pleasant silence between the three of them; the younger duo relaxed in their seats while Winry began to resume her work.

* * *

On the existential plane that Shuma-Gorath had once governed his empire of many universes from, there was today a city. More than a city, incidentally - a megalopolis in the word's truest meaning.

Of the city that ran in nearly every direction beyond the mountain where the Great Young Ones had made their home and base, the Infinite City as it had been named in almost every language spoken by its citizenry, one might speak at length, but only one word was required to describe the infrastructure in full - inconstant.

In that society's every corner, nook and cranny, there was something always new and different to see. From a bird's eye view of it, one might catch glimpses of virtually every kind of construction in every shape or color that the mind might be able to dream up.

It was, however, not to be thought that Shuma-Gorath's realm was purely infrastructure, for in many places across the continents that the Infinite City reached across, the urban jungles came to a close, and the wilderness of all things nature took over. In those places, of pure and savage nature, there was much to speak of - lush forests and arid deserts, vast lakes and volcanoes that were resting but very much alive, the occasional mountain that reached up higher than even the clouds could follow, yadda yadda yadda.

Equally as widely varied as the terrains of this universe were the thousands of species who inhabited this plane of existence, alien lifeforms from the uncountable planets and universes that the Lord of Chaos had visited and brought upheaval to in his current quest which he had forcibly relocated to this realm (regardless of what they felt or thought about it) over the many years he had been a cosmic douchebag.

It might be a surprise, or perhaps not (in fact, it probably wouldn't be...), that this world was not perfect and eternally peaceful - As with most other places across the here and there of the omniverse, it needed heroes to defend the innocent, and to step in during occasions of strife and conflict to be the ones to save us all.

 _That_ was precisely what this realm had been given by its Lord of Chaos, in two groups as a matter of fact - The Justice League of Avengers, a coalition of twelve post-humans whose members possessed the gamut of superhuman abilities, and the Great Young Ones, a more-or-less arbitrary group of beings gathered from the furthest reaches of all reality to aid the evil god himself in his latest endeavor.

Nothing in that whole tirade, though, really related at the business at hand.

Said business was being conducted on the roof floor food court in a cafe that was shaped like a pyramid. There, around a hexagonal table and under a green sky, were Ben the shapeshifter, Gwen the magician, Vel'koz and Karma seated; the three of them who could eat were almost finished.

"It must suck to get old," voiced Ben to his tablemates.

Karma looked half-disapprovingly at him. "We are not unaging simply because we are immortal, Benjamin," stated the chocolate-skinned woman. "Our spirits age and mature as much and as fast as those of mortal beings. We _are_ old women and men, even if we wear youthful bodies."

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Never thought about it like that."

It didn't surprise Karma, not in light of who Ben was. A momentary silence lingered about the quartet, during which a five-feet tall spider-like creature with green fur approached their table. Coming to a halt beside Vel'koz, he waited a moment for the customer to pick the metal plate off his back.

"Thank you," the violet-garbed Ionian told the spider-thing, calmly taking the plate onto their table. On said plate were dining utensils and a blue rectangular fruit that was larger than her head. Happy with the compliment, the waiter departed their table with a skip in his eight-legged steps, to serve others attending.

"So, where are you planning to venture next?" inquired the tentacled behemoth who towered over them, to the Tennyson cousins. His voice was a distinctive gargle that sounded somewhat like metallic scraping. The slit iris of his largest eye glowed dimly.

It was Gwen who answered, and promptly. "I was thinking about going out north," the ginger snuck a split-second glance at the brunet, then looked back to Vel'koz.

Ben frowned pensively, straightening up in his sitting stance. He recalled faintly various places from northward - Hulks Valley, the Jungle of Great Insects, the race tracks, the Ring Library's northern section - that they had been to recently. Then, a smirk grew onto his face and his eyes went bright. "I'm _so_ in."

The slit iris narrowed even thinner. Where, wondered the eldritch terror from an interstitial plane, in all infinity was Gwen planning to foray? "Are you intending any particular destination for this little sojourn of yours?"

Gwen shrugged her shoulders. "Not this time, just back on the road with us," the ginger rose from her seat, pushing her chair back with that same gesture. The other preteen stood up as well, quickly picking up his hoverboard.

"If you'll excuse me," said Gwen, to the Eye of the Void and Karma, "I'll grab Ben, and we'll be on our way."

Karma sighed mentally, face an unwavering deadpan, without moving from her chair. "Do as you see fit to. I will remind you, however, to avoid Hulks Valley," the Ionian knew that it might have been an unnecessary warning, for none went there without having a death-wish. Knowing them, and how brash they could be at times, though, it hardly hurt.

The children didn't answer, but went on their respective hoverboard. Karma and Vel'koz, and various other guests dining there, watched on as the cousins took off into the sky and towards the northern lands of the Infinite City.

In moments, they were beyond the sub-urban cityscape - mostly oval buildings - that surrounded the pyramidal restaurant. After a few further moments, they were dark specks against the bright canvas of the horizon. Once a full minute had elapsed, they were so far gone that neither one of them could see them anymore.

Karma then casually broke the silence that had ensued. "How has your month been, Vel'koz?"


	4. Darkness, part two

Not for the first time, the Dark Phoenix emerged from the depths of the firepit.

She appeared to all the world as though Hell had tried its hand at crafting its own angel - her body, lean and curvaceous, floated slowly downwards. A pair of fiery wings, birthed of illusory flames, flanked the psychic. Her orange-scarlet locks acted like they had their own life, moving outward in every virtually direction. Her eyeballs burned with golden light, and her pale lips were set in a sly and cold smirk that slightly bared her teeth. The waist-sash of her suit swayed gently in the faint breezes around her.

Far below that goddess, on that Apokoliptian street, flocks of Lowlies were gazing up towards the posthuman with only affection and devotion on their faces and in their eyes. More than a few of them were bowing in reverence to their overlady.

The psychic gazed indifferently back at the sycophants, looking over the mob, approaching them at a leisurely pace.

"I beg of you," cried out one of the people in the crowd, an insectoid quadruped, with a voice that was female and heavy on the clicking of mandibles, "use us for your purposes, torture and transform us however you want, just let us serve! By all that is holy, we are yours!"

None of the people in the crowd refuted her, or even looked at the insect-woman as though she had said anything wrong or objectionable. Indeed, in their minds, she hadn't. What they did was merely look up at the levitating woman - silently, expectantly, adoringly.

Dark Phoenix regarded that statement with naught but a slight smirk. A billion and more wills deadened so long ago, thought the Lady of Apokolips, and _this_ was the reward for it. Oh, the possibilities of an unswervingly obedient flock.

The woman extended her arm, pointing out an orange-skinned humanoid who wore only rags. The Tamaranian began to float upwards, gravity's hold on him negated by her telekinesis. The orange-skinned man smiled, thoroughly content with his current situation.

The woman, with her subject in tow, took off like a jet once again, towards the northern region and where she remembered the torture-god's laboratory to currently be. Her voyage there, through the dark and cloudless sky, was a silent and relatively-prolonged one - for her elected one was too enraptured by the thought of being tortured by his gods to speak to her, even after the first twenty minutes of the telekinetically-enabled flight - but she made it there eventually.

The goddess descended from the transparent skies, towards a solitary compound's in the Armagedda district. When her booted feet made contact, there was no noise to hear from it. Her companion remained afloat as well as silent, suspended in the air behind her.

The psychic then released her mental grip on the Tamaranian, who then experienced a blunt fall of about one metre. The discomfort he experienced elicited a chuckle. The man moved into a bowing position, regarding the red-haired woman with gratitude. In his mind, he praised her for choosing him over all others.

"Go," spoke the former heroine, without turning to look at her worshipper. "Seek DeSaad in this place, and tell him who has sent you to him. He will know what to do with you."

The Lowly stood up. Looking around the area, he quickly found - a stone's throw to the right, where there was a staircase in the rooftop - where he was supposed to go, and began walking towards it.

Dark Phoenix folded her arms over her chest, and took a gander up at the skies.

The skies the woman now gazed at were a dirty shade of orange-red, akin to the mixture of blood and mud.

It was a common thing, thought the alien to herself, on New Genesis that its children got into a poetic mood and introspected about the nature of the ties between New Genesis and Apokolips. Many times over her forty decades as an Apokolips resident had she listened in on the mental monologuing of the New Genesis deities - young, middle-aged, old, they all did that.

Dark Phoenix did not much grasp why that was so; it was hardly that fascinating, and it did not seem strongly productive to ponder the subject when the truth was as simple as that the New God planets represented the spectrums of evil and good in full. Releasing a light sigh, she decided the oddity a product of their culture - just as them taking a divine name and power upon coming of age was.

 _"Perhaps idly standing here for a few hours will be enough?"_ thought the psychic. There was not much else to do than stand still to meditate and reflect, and DeSaad's laboratory was as good as a place as anywhere. Perhaps tomorrow, after the next hatching, there would be time for another exploration of the second galaxy.

And so, she just stood. Around the immortal, the moments trudged by. A bit of a crowd gradually took shape in the streets around the compound to praise her and pay tribute, which she ignored. Her thoughts wandered from subject to subject, and occasionally made wild jumps, but no one topic were so complex that she could not reach a satisfactory conclusion within the space of an hour.

Then, without any prior warning, the red-head heard the voice of Darkseid among her thoughts. _"My Phoenix, I hope that you are not currently busy - for there is new work to be done!"_

 _"Think to me in earnest,"_ related the Apokoliptian goddess of life and death, with mentally audible interest, _"and I shall overturn all the heavens if need be to grant your desires. What are we to do?"_

 _"I wish to ask one favor of you,"_ communed the Apokoliptian god of fascism, his physical gaze growing absent. _"I believe that the time has come to call Big Barda and Mister Miracle back to Apokolips. These past centuries is more than enough time for their frivolities and their dithering about across the universe. I would see them indulged no longer, and called back where they belong."_

 _"Very well,"_ thought the psychic, with an ounce of displeasure. Here she was - the woman who was fire and life incarnate, she whose might was such that it left omnipotence wanting, a hell-bringer, enslaver of souls by the thousands on a quiet day, unsurpasssed among all the Apokolips gods. All that, and yet, he asked her to recruit fresh meat for the forces of Apokolips? That was what DeSaad and Granny were for.

Well, why not? Indolence was, after all, the downfall of many evils. _"I shall see this request be fulfilled. Know that I will contact you once I have. It should take no more than an hour, honey."_

 _"Most satisfactory,"_ thought the stone-bodied divinity to her. The restrained warmth that was Darkseid's mind dimmed from her mind. She turned her attention elsewhere.

A thought occurring to her, she re-established the telepathic contact. _"Is there any particular state you would prefer them returned to us in, any crucial knowledge that they hold?"_

 _"None,"_ conveyed Darkseid, who then felt her mind's touch of his own fade - a sensation akin to diminished desire for love-making and battle and domination.

Across the vast gulf of space that divided the sibling-worlds of the New Gods, her mind's eye soared, and bridged the gap with a swiftness that almost nothing which possessed substance could equal. The fiery orange light in her physical form's eyeballs brightened from that exertion of mindly might.

In a lagoon, far away from wondrous Supertown, Barda and Scott were frolicking. More to the point, they were embracing tightly, exchanging passionate kisses, and in general, having a very good day.

Then, an invisible wave of psychic force washed over both the undressed husband and wife, and their immediate surroundings. Telekinesis and telepathy worked in concert to halt all progress or movement in the area, material as well as mental. In effect, the flow of time had been dammed up.

The projection-entity gazed sternly at the couple, idly debating which deity to reclaim first. Urgency was of the essence; being on the same planet as the destroyer of New Apokolips was far from desirable.

_"Highfather's son would be a good start."_

* * *

There was now an unyielding silence in the hall of the throne. The decoration there was sparse, and not a lot was to be seen beyond the throne and the room's exit, and a handful of their subjects. Upon the two thrones, the rulers of the world. A short distance before them, a series of concentric circles which seemed purely made of white light hung in the air, rippling outwards.

From the luminous dot at the center of the divine technology called a Boom Tube, that which stemmed from the waves of the mind of the Mother Box, there extended eight lines which connected every ring that was generated.

As the pair watched it, no abundance of emotion in their faces, two figures who enjoyed much renown among the New Gods emerged from the other side.

One was a man, in bright and festive colors; red and green and yellow was what Scott Free wore on this occasion, an attire which fit snugly to him and left little doubt about his striking musculature. Down his back, there fell an emerald-colored cape. Save for the eyes, nothing of him was left bared.

One was a woman, in equally bright colors - red and blue and yellow - as her husband. The woman was, unmistakably, taller than the man walking beside her and comparatively well-muscled, and not lacking in beauty. Her attire's primary portion was the ocean-blue suit of scale-mail that covered every section of her body below her neck in multiple layers. Her coal-black hair reached past her neck, and her marine-blue cape picked off where her hair left off. In her left hand, a golden cylinder was carried - a celestial weapon whose simple exterior belied its power.

The spouses walked a short distance, then got down on bent knee before the throne-seated ones, who regarded them with not much interest.

 _"Well,"_ telepathed the red-haired woman to Darkseid, _"they are brought before you as you asked. Does the sight of them bowing in surrender to you please?"_

 _"I anticipate that they will provide appreciable service in the coming days._ _A somewhat pressing question is what roles they are to be assigned in the great machine and pantheon that is this world,"_ related Darkseid. _"The somewhat apparent approach to take would merely be the inversion of concepts, and put them to work as the Gods of Captivity and Despair."_

 _"The monikers are suitable,_ _my love,"_ communed Dark Phoenix, the thought enmeshed with undisguised amusement and a slight smirk creeping onto her face, _"though they lack the audacity I have come to expect from all things born of Apokolips."_

 _"I will not deny that,"_ conveyed Darkseid, _"but not all things need be clutched after a hard-fought victory, nor need a scrap of knowledge be grasped only after many a year of introspection and journeying to distant lands."_

 _"There is truth in that,"_ answered the psychic. _"However, I would question whether a God of Captivity has any place here. What further entrapment might Scott bring about than I have already? Could it be that you question my talents, my love?"_

 _"Not in the slightest,"_ he was quick to answer, sounding a bit perturbed at the notion despite the good humor of her thought. _"I had simply not considered that it might be construed in such a fashion. If you desire Miracle disposed of, I will see to that."_

 _"You need not,"_ she communicated, turning her head to face him. _"I ask merely that you give no reason to believe that tiresome bit of hero's arrogance, to believe that I am here only to be a weapon of spirit's might, and all shall be well between us. ... when did we last have a conversation of this nature, twenty-eight years ago?"_

Darkseid felt a sigh coming on, at the memory of that battle. _"I believe so, and what I told you then is still true: You are valued greatly, not for your psionic prowess, but for the mundane pleasures that I have experienced in the centuries I have known you. Though all of creation might dispute that, that shall forever be true - in a millennia as in a billennia, in hundred-thousand years, and even long after the stars die."_

A pleased smile grew on her face, which reached into her luminant eyes. _"Why, Darkseid, I believe that you might actually be in a sentimental mood. Rather an endearing thing to behold._ _"_

Darkseid thought and said nothing, gazing towards the kneeling ones. With an idle glance away from the kneeling gods, he noted that their subjects had begun to mutter words of adoration to their rulers.

The sweetness of the exchange lingered for a long moment. A moment after, she resumed the mental dialogue, _"Regrettably, Scott is no longer capable of serving as the God of Captivity, even if such a creature was needed. I did not subject him to mere enthrallment which might be reverted, you see. To procure their servitude, it appeared most efficient to expunge everything from their souls, and reduce them to walking nothingnesses. Save for the bodies, there is now nothing left of Miracle and Barda."_

_"Good."_

_"It was quite the fascinating piece of work, to cause such absolute soul-death, and all the more rewarding by their hopeless struggling. An experience I anticipate repeating in the days to come."_

Casting a glance at Scott and Barda, Darkseid thought after a pause, _"Dark Phoenix, though I have faith in you above all others to aid my efforts, I believe it to be most prudent that observable proof be provided of Barda's obedience. Of her emotional ties to New Genesis, one still remains, and in that lies a possibility, however slim, that she might someday commit another betrayal. That must be crushed."_

 _"I agree fully,"_ communed the red-head, eyeing the man in red, yellow and green with expectant amusement. _"_ _Would you like to give the order? If so, I will take care of matters when the next hero shows up and seeks to overthrow us."_

"Big Barda, rise," ordered Darkseid. The armored woman stood up, looking squarely at the lord and lady of Apokolips. "Demonstrate your fealty, kill Miracle."

The Apokolips goddess of despair turned to him, and gripped his throat. Gagging and coughing, and struggling for breath, though the god of freedom was, he wasn't putting up a struggle against her. With a final sharp tightening of her grip, a blunt noise sounded from the man's hand-enwrapped throat.

With a minor exertion of muscle, she flung her victim aside, to skid across the floor towards the right-side wall. If Barda felt any remorse about the killing of the man she had once loved, there was not a trace of that emotion. Indeed, there was not any there - her eyes were cold, her expression was stony.

She turned to the ruler-divinities of the hell-planet. "Have I done it adequately?"

Darkseid regarded her handiwork with a certain fascination. After a pause and a further bit of mental conferring with his wife, "Yes, you have."


	5. Demons, part three

In its current age and state, the Demon World didn't have a day-night cycle, for it was no longer a planet orbiting a star. Instead, it was land almost without end, ocean almost without end, and sky almost without end.

The realm's only current sun hovered above the continent and the sea that surrounded it, suspended there by the realm's magical laws. Daytime was thus virtually eternal in the Hell that Morrigan Aensland ruled. Interludes, periods of shadow, occurred only on the occasions that clouds (or something of demonic nature) obscured the solar rays. Even during that those times, it was common for it to be only small regions of the continent that experienced such.

Even so, even if only metaphorically, it might be said that another day was drawing near for the queen of the realm - in the bed-chamber of her castle, Morrigan was soundly asleep, like a _log_.

The succubus was not alone in the bed; the Many-Angled One was there too, in a three-dimensional manifestation. One of his tentacles was wrapped firmly around her left leg, from the foot and upwards towards her nether entrance. Her right arm was extended over him, positioned to be between the thorns on his backside. Her larger wing-pair were extended, in a state of relaxed disuse, behind her.

On her face were a look of quiet contentment and two closed eyes. It was a look mirrored by her bedmate; insofar as a lump of green flesh with only an oversized eyeball in it could form facial expressions.

Well, that was about the only thing that there was to check out in the room; save for a few doors, of varying coloration, the bedroom seemed completely unremarkable and empty.

The seconds and minutes passed leisurely, observed by neither of the bedroom's residents. Nothing transpired, nor broke the quietude that had taken root in the air. Eventually, Morrigan stirred from her sleep, a process that was both gradual and less than pleasant.

The royal released a low and throaty grunt of displeasure, a moment after her awakening. Despite her mild efforts, her eyelids - which ached, and felt as heavy as rocks - refused to budge. Mentally, she cursed the very concept of sleep.

The succubus decided then to make a second at opening her eyes, which was more successful. Emerald orbs beheld now the eldritch arch-mage in her bed. It took a moment for Morrigan's voice to begin to cooperate after her slumber.

"I hope," spoke she to her king-consort, voice relatively unsteady, "that this particular rest has served its purpose, Shuma. We can always go for a repeat-performance if not."

The whimsical part of her thought that a 'repeat-performance' sounded like an interesting way to begin the morning - that, or yet again besting him in some Marvel Versus Capcom game. Either was an endlessly gratifying activity, the former particularly so with limbs as flexible as his.

Moments like these, thought the succubus while the eyelid of the tentacled creature opened up to bare an off-white eyeball, were something that few realized how precious truly were.

"It was very satisfactory," informed the pleased-tone voice of Shuma-Gorath, hastily adding, "not to suggest that I had expected otherwise, of course. Perhaps the phrasing of this sentence is less than ideal, my apologies."

The succubus gave him a bit of a smirk. "Perhaps, perhaps not. What might your plans for the immediate future be?"

A few of the Chaos Lord's tentacles began to move, almost lethargetically, in different patterns - one of them trailed a ring in the empty air. "I believe that I will locate another Hell for assimilation, unless you wish it otherwise?"

Her smirk dimmed somewhat, yet not altogether, nor did she seem inclined to leave the bed and her lying position in it. "Not especially; enjoy that venture to the fullest, Shuma."

After another moment of lying there, Morrigan shifted her position to lie on her front side to avoid any discomfort in her wings. Supporting her torso with her arms, she quickly shifted into a sitting stance, and then moved off the bed.

"What of you?" inquired the floating tentacle-monster while Morrigan strolled towards the north-facing wall of the sleeping chamber and its blandly-orange door. "What particular plans have you in mind?"

The unclothed succubus turned around, flashing him a vaguely-pleased look. "Nothing immediately comes to mind, so work shall suffice for the moment," so saying, she turned back to the door. The door opened, on the room that was Morrigan's wardrobe.

From the left wall to the right, the chamber measured almost twenty metres; from ceiling to roof, it was about as spacious. From the entrance to the back of the room, it looked more like it was a hundred metres large, at the very least. The room was illuminated by five large and round lamps - one upon each of the four walls, and the very last one in the ceiling above the room's contents.

A short distance directly ahead of the succubus stood a tall and doorless closet, constructed of tan-brown wood. Hanging in that were two of her many attires - a pair whose designs were almost identical yet whose colors differed radically; for the outfit on the right, the leggings were a pleasant shade of blue, whereas the left-side leggings were violet in their hue. A commonality between both garments were the darkened markings of bats on them. The leotards of the two attires were distinct as well - a red one with the blue leggings and a black one with the violet ones, and feathery shoulder-straps on each.

Behind the closet, there stood several other rows of similarly doorless closets - seventeen in total, if one might be arsed to count. In the upper half of each, different upper-body garments that the ruler of Makai had acquired in her centuries-long reign; below them, garments designed for the lower body of those with Morrigan's body-type. Almost universally, every article of clothing differed from the others, in whatever fashion.

Most of her clothes were neatly filed away for future use in the closets, but for a handful of the garments, less attentive treatment was given - some laid disheveled on the floor, others in their storage closets, a grey-hued kimono flung atop the ninth closet.

* * *

There was not much going on in the throne-room at the moment. In fact, silence was reigning there right now. On the throne of the hall sat Lady Aensland, garbed in a silk-produced kimono that was predominantly grey and decorated with yellow squares which was worn to proudly and openly display the cavernous expanse of her well-proportioned chest.

Around their queen were three demonic animals. One was a large dog with four red and black-grey four. Another was a horned and wide-mawed cat of similar proportions to the dog, whose fur was wild and fire-colored. The third was a snake with a hide of black scales and a multitude of heads.

Then, without any warning provided the people in the throneroom, a gust of chilly wind washed over the hall from a place far away, and the world flashed with the light of spirit energy. A deadpan look remained on Morrigan's face, even as her surroundings congealed back into a new form.

In all three-hundred-sixty-degrees, blue sky and grainy-white clouds surrounded all the demons that had occupied Morrigan's throne-room and the waiting room. For some, undisguised panic and terror flashed on their faces (or their closest equivalent) at the sight at their warped surroundings, and for others, the mood was one of great surprise. A good number of the demons, about twelve, felt both emotions rise up in them.

The queen of the land gazed idly about, taking in their altered surroundings and the absence of her throne, recognizing the spell for what it was. _"Remarkable. I hadn't thought that anyone else would be so capable."_

"Mistress!" came the frantic outcry from the serpentine guards-demon. Like the other demons in Morrigan's employ who had occupied the former throne room and the demons in the nearby waiting room, Monto quickly noticed that they weren't falling. "Is everybody alright?" shouted the snake out to the others, quickly receiving affirmative answers from the assemblage.

"You need not trouble yourselves over this occurrence," announced Morrigan to that region of the sky. "What we are currently experiencing is a magical construct known as a Reality Marble. In lay-demon's terms, the spell overwrites the world with a mental landscape drawn from the caster's soul. It won't last very long, be assured of that."

Every demon nearby looked at Morrigan, or turned to regard the succubus as best they were able to. An uneasy moment passed before any of the ones gathered spoke.

"Preposterous," called out a demon of the red-skinned and bipedal variety, from what had been the waiting room, about thirty metres away from her. "There is no magic, succubus," growled the fiend loudly, "no incantation or ritual that is capable of something such as _this._ If there was, we would already possess it."

Morrigan scoffed openly, taking a moment to try and recall who it was that addressed her, looking her over.

The woman was bipedal, noted Morrigan, with deep-red skin on her and ash-white hair down to her shoulders. Garbed only in a loin-cloth as she was, her body was bared to the world. Her yellow eyes, all four of them, were smouldering; unmissably, even across this gap.

 _"Let's see... red skin, white hair, four yellow eyes that burn almost like the fires of the underground. Which demon lord could this one be aligned with or descended from?"_ her pondering was interrupting by the world flaring up again, and restoring the throne room.

From floor to ceiling, the restored hall measured about a dozen metres; from each side to the other, the room stretched about a hundred metres. Returned along with the room was the multitude of doors in three of the walls, the balcony that laid a bit away behind the throne, the sparse decor that had been placed in the chamber as of late, and the immense oval sky-light that illuminated one and all.

The hellhound's face lit up with relief at being back, and he began to kiss the ground. Morrigan, Monto and Astaroth regarded the gesture with mild amusement; their attention was quickly drawn to something else, over to the eight-metres-tall-and-wide door that opened in the right-side wall to let the red-bodied Darkstalker into the hall.

"Tell me," called the lime-haired demon with open displeasure to the Trigon-spawn, who merely frowned silently as she approached, "who of Trigon's sick blood seeks an audience with me, and for what reason?"

The foot-steps of the red-skinned woman sounded, brief-lived but loud, in the hall, and she halted less than five metres before Morrigan's guards.

"I am Lady Lucith, mistress of Wrath in the empire of Trigon, daughter and sister to Mistress Raven of Pride, sired by Trigon himself," proclaimed the woman bombastically. "I am here for the right to reign over Hell, succubus, so prepare to die."

The demonic snake, demonic cat, demonic dog and their succubus leader all gazed unimpressedly at the demon. A scowl formed on Lucith's face.

"Yeahhhh," deadpanned the snake with all her faces, "I don't think so."

The Trigon-spawn glared at the serpent. "I shall slaughter all in my way and stop at nothing to take the throne as my own, creature. Would you like to be the first to fall?"

"Monto," interjected Morrigan, unmissably displeased despite the slight smirk on her face, "is quite correct. I will say that your bravado is admirable, Lady Lucith," smirked the royal. "The very idea of a Rank C demon such as yourself challenging the ruler of the Demon World and the forces of the Aensland family is as preposterous as you deem the existence of Reality Marbles, yet here you are. Whether this matter is settled peacefully or violently, I would be inclined to reward you for that."

Lucith glared daggers at the succubus, lips still set in their thin line. "Believe not that flattery shall avail you anything, thou who sits on my throne. Today, you die."

The hell-cat lunged at her, tackling the woman to the floor. Quickly adjusting his stance, he pressed his right front-paw against the demon's stomach, then lowered his head. "You better," growled the demonic feline, at the grimacing woman, "think twice about how you talk to my mistress."

A couple of Monto's heads studied the scuffle curiously, as did Morrigan. The hell-hound looked bored with it. None of the three seemed about to move and halt it.

"Get off me, you disgusting creature," hollered the red-skinned fiend. "Glacius-" she began to chant, but halted when she felt the cat's paw deliver a forceful shove into her stomach.

"You had better," whispered the hellcat lowly, digging the claws into her flesh and drawing blood, "be as quiet as demonically possible, mage, or we'll just see if you can recite any spells with a slit throat and seventeen open wounds."

Lucith grimaced, wincing audibly.

A distance past the scuffling demons, Morrigan and the two hell-beasts saw the empty air become less empty as Shuma-Gorath appeared from nowhere. He was not alone, they observed. All of his travel companions was of the same bipedal shape as the Trigon-spawn, yet with a number of distinctive traits between each one.

One of them appeared a statue in the body shape of the average succubus, slender and curvaceous in shape, well-endowed in the chest region, fire-haired; the rock it was made of was charred a deep coal-black. In a multitude of spots over the bared body, the fires beneath the surface had burned through. Another was a creature, unclothed like the burning statue was. Its skin was a gray-blue shade, and covered from top to bottom in jagged spikes. A somewhat lengthy tail extended from its buttocks, and the thing's face was featureless beyond the red pair of eyes.

The other three were alike to a great extent - each one had red skin like the Trigon-spawn. What made them distinct was the minor variations in their shape, and the exact shade of red, and their garments.

"I trust," called the multidimensional tentacle-beast out to the room, eyeing the hellcat, audibly a bit amused, "that this particular matter is handled?"

"I expect so," affirmed the succubus, a small smirk gracing her features. "Astaroth tends to be reliable about these things. Perhaps you can introduce your newest accquirings while he handles this little affair?"

"Certainly," answered Shuma-Gorath. "Meet Mephisto," he pointed a tentacle at the red-skinned demon in the loincloth, then moved the appendage to the fiery stone creature, "Magma," then indicated tall, dark and spiky, "Blackheart," then the one with dark hair and raven-feathered wings, "Mephista," and then the red-haired red-skinned demon in red clothes, "Malevolence," the appendage dropped. "Magma and Mephisto used to govern another Hell, and the other three are their children. Their Ranks are nigh-universally C, though Magma is a B, and they have already received the necessary adjustments."

Morrigan released an amused scoff. "As always, you find such fascinating things. I shall see to it that these five receive proper housing somewhere. Have you any other demons to dump in my lap?"

"None at present," answered Shuma-Gorath, who silently began to move towards the succubus.


	6. Darkness, part three

The brawny man, the Dog of War, walked across the terrace. A small distance ahead of him, stood the leader of the New Genesis pantheon, a man with hair of white and (for the day) robes of darkened blue. Orion halted. Highfather turned to regard his son.

"Orion," spoke the man, whose white hair framed his whole face, sternly. "It is good to see you, despite the severity of matters. Have you any doubts of what I am about to tell you?"

"None," spoke the war-god of New Genesis, with a scowl on his face. "That would imply there was ever any true doubt about who it was that dared this craven attempt to undermine New Genesis."

"And," continued Highfather, wistfully amused, "I suppose that I cannot persuade you to stay your hand, no matter the reasons or arguments?"

For a moment, Orion simply stared coldly at his adoptive father. "No. Though I would be glad of it if you could provide me with some counsel, I am afraid that I will let nothing stand in my way, father. I **refuse** to leave Scott and Barda to the horrors that proliferate Apokolips. Should this endeavor cost me my life, then at least it was given for a worthy cause."

Silently, smiling brightly, Highfather began to approach his adopted son, then wrapped his arms around the man, who hesitantly returned the gesture.

"Whatever happens on Apokolips," whispered the aged god-king, "try to return to us, to me, alive and yourself in mind and body."

He very well couldn't keep that promise, and they both knew it. From the rulers to the Parademons, the infernal planet had reared so very many terrible and wicked things that could kill him. That he wasn't asked to make it that was a small comfort for Orion. "I intend to, and to return with them in triumph. I swear to you, you shall not have to worry yourself because of your children."

* * *

On the balcony to one throne-hall of the Apokoliptian monarchs, silence reigned, and not unwelcomely so. On this balcony, the rulers gazed out over their hellish dominion and their many subjects.

 _"Have I ever mentioned the day that legendary Galactus visited Apokolips?"_ communed the stone-skinned god, unable to keep a tinge of good mood out of his thought. _"The end to that particular conflict was delectably humorous."_

 _"I believe not,"_ communed the red-haired goddess, shooting him an amused look. _"How did it end?"_

_"With Galactus realizing that Apokolips was a poor choice of sustenance material."_

She replied by way of an amused scoff. _"These instances of you demonstrating how other than aloof you can be are always amusing, beloved._ _"_

Darkseid gave no answer, simply gazing with a flat frown out over the city-scape and towards the blood-colored sky, his arms remaining folded behind him. She studied him briefly, an amused smirk on her lips, before turning her attention elsewhere.

The silence immediately returned, unbidden by them and unbroken by anything on the balcony. His gaze wandered over the city-scape ahead, finding nothing worthy of his interest, then he gazed up towards the red sky. _"How many unknown wonders do you suppose that there exists out there, in the gulf between this world and the Source Wall, ripe for the conquering?"_

Phoenix studied him briefly, then gazed upwards as well. _"A curious question. I imagine that we will have, well, all eternity to find out."_

Darkseid neither said nor emoted anything in response to that, simply taking a glance towards the sky. Dark Phoenix looked in the same direction, noticing the speck darting across the sky. Elsewhere on the planet, one or two of the gods and their mortal servants too gazed at the pissed New God - including a wild-haired brute of a man from the roof of the Female Fury barracks.

"I _was_ wondering," voiced Darkseid, "when Orion would come."

The goddess-queen silently watched the speck in the sky as he steadily approached and became less of one. _"Indeed, that was inevitable,"_ a smirk graced her face as she thought, _"I shall go attend to our guest,"_ to Darkseid.

A veritable cloud of psionic force erupted from her, and began to envelop her while taking on the visage of her namesake. Silently, she began to fly off towards Orion - the red-haired goddess raced across the sky like a shooting star, drawing it a dividing line with the brief-lived trail of psionic fire that was left in her wake.

Not even a whole minute had passed by before mother and step-son confronted one another in the skies. Orion and Phoenix hovered, like gravity was but a quaint something they no longer wished to indulge in, and both were held aloft where they were by different forces.

Orion stared sternly at the red-haired woman, who returned the gesture with a deadpan look of her own.

He felt unease slither across his skin, at the thought of what she might do to him. _"Well you might exercise caution, Orion, but in facing me openly as you do, there is no salvation for you, hero,"_ he heard her voice, coy and mocking, in his mind. "Come for Barda and Miracle, have you?" spoke the red-head, with a tone that was as minimally questioning as was imaginable.

"Where are they?" demanded Orion.

The psychic released a single simple mocking scoff, and a minute smirk grew on her face. The Dog of War felt inclined to just throttle the answer out of her. "Your timing is, as always, horrid, step-son of mine. Scott Free is dead already, and the best part of it all?" her smirk widened, to the point that Orion was reminded of Mad Harriet. " **Barda** was the one who took her husband's life. With but one command from your father, she strangled him, no remorse, no hesitation, and no resistance."

Rage. Blinding, blood-boiling, maddening. Orion felt only rage at that moment, rage so potent that his desire for avenging his best friends caused him himself pains of the flesh. His fists balled reflexively, and he released a guttural wet scream as he lunged for Dark Phoenix.

The next thing he felt was the sensation of solid material pressed against his back. His eyes scanned his surroundings, compelled by his warrior's instincts. Before him laid surroundings that he recognized faintly - one of his father's throne halls, a long hall with only three walls. By the far left end of the hall, he spotted his abominable wretch of a father.

As Orion regained his bearings, Dark Phoenix flew back into the room, and made a quiet landing.

"Idiot," scoffed the woman at Orion. "You know who I am, and what powers I possess. What delusion enabled you to think that you could ever even have **touched** me if I desired otherwise?"

Orion stood up, glaring defiantly at the red-head. "Spare me your self-aggrandizements and prattle, psychic. For what you have brought about, you shall die this day. So swears Orion of New Genesis."

A mocking smirk formed on her face. "Your arrogance is astonishing, Orion," countered the ascended New Goddess. "What precisely do you imagine that your physical strength and that astro-force irritant can achieve against she who is both omnipotent and omniscient? Step-son, the words you speak are **madness**!"

As Orion glared daggers at her, his eyes scanned the room. The wall behind her was non-extant, so he could escape through there if he could get around her. _"No, you will not,"_ he heard her voice in his mind, and ignored it. She might know what he was thinking, but knowing that and being able to impede him were different matters entirely.

Phoenix's smirk became a frown as Orion's thoughts and examination of the situation went on.

By the throne-room's far-left end (or was it the right?), he noted the presence of his wretched father. Almost worse, Barda was flanking him there, no shackles and no unease and no sign of Scott. Unease seeped into him at the thought of that. The conclusion of those combined facts was as reasonable as it was unwelcome.

Her smirk lit back up, and the eyes that gleamed with the gold-white light of her sort of divine power gained a triumphant sheen at Orion's current mood.

Without warning, the hall's quietude was ripped into piece by the loud sound of stamping steps. The throne-seated god turned his head towards the balcony, his gaze noting the arrival of another son of his. Orion looked past his adversary, spotting what he soon recalled to be his brother there and drawing near. In her mind's eye, Dark Phoenix observed the presence and checked rage of Kalibak, while her physical eyes remained fixed on Orion.

Knowing well that she was watching, the animalistic green-armored man shifted his stance, to genuflect before his mother. His head, he lowered in reverence.

"Mother, I beseech you," said the lion-maned God of Lust. "Allow me to have the honor and pleasure of taking Orion's life. Let mine be the hand by which he suffers and the heel under which he is crushed."

Orion gave an annoyed scoff. Ignoring that gesture, Dark Phoenix turned around, to regard Kalibak face to face. "Very well," she said, giving her step-son a pleasant smile. "For your many years of loyalty and dedication, Kalibak, you have earned the right to kill him. Enjoy your work to the fullest."

Without another word, the lean-figured woman turned towards Darkseid and began sauntering towards the thrones. Her waist-wrapped sashes swayed quietly behind her in the faint breezes of that throneroom.

Orion scowled, inwardly annoyed by her dismissive demeanor. _"It is a fine mess you have buried yourself in this day, warrior,"_ thought the New God. _"Three of the mightiest residents of terrible Apokolips are around you now, you can at best only rival the strength of Kalibak, and none of these foul souls are particularly fond of you. This might well be your final_ _hour._ "

Kalibak smirked, raising his balled fists, beginning a slow walk towards Orion. "Oh, how I have waited for this day, brother mine," he leered to Orion, who returned only a deadpan glare. "More than four decades, I spent on my training journey, traveling across the mortal realms with only my Mother Box as company. You cannot begin to imagine the adversaries I faced in my venturings, the mundane people or the macabre things. Even the Super Saiyan of myth, Broly of the planet Vegeta, fell in his battle against me. I wonder," his voice grew even more smug, "will you fare any better than Broly did, brother?"

Orion walked quietly towards his brother, heedless of the posturing. Once he had entered arm's length of Kalibak, he swung his balled right fist towards the man's mid-section. The blow connected, Kalibak didn't even make a gesture to dodge. It immediately dawned on Orion why that was - the beast didn't even seem to feel his punch.

 _"Not a disappointing start,"_ conveyed Darkseid to her.

Kalibak smirked, baring the fangs in his mouth. With a speed that Orion could barely follow, his three-fingered hands wrapped around his helmeted head. Veins surfaced on the hands of Kalibak as he pushed the helmet inwards. The New Genesis steel proved yielding, but Orion's cranium, not so much.

The war-god refused the urge to grunt. His arms raced up to grab Kalibak's wrists, but he soon found his brother's grip so not easily broken. "No, Orion," he heard the voice of Kalibak, heavy with glee and blood-thirst, say. "From this battle between us, there will be no retreat, no delays, no mercy, no restraint. Only one of us shall survive to see another day, and it shall be I!"

So saying, he charged forward, pushing Orion head-first into the wall. Drawing his mountain of a left arm bag, Kalibak laid into the Dog of War with all the strength he could muster. Then, he delivered another such blow with his right arm, causing a crack to form in the golden transport-device that Orion wore and a cry of raw pain to escape the god's lips.

Glee filled Kalibak's face as he began to pound away at Orion, a single blinding desire in his mind - that he struck Orion so hard and so many times that his brother was rendere too disoriented by agony to think clearly, and thus unable to strike back.

The sounds of flesh striking both flesh and steel filled the throne hall. Along with those, the sound of machinery and electronics shattering, the sound of flesh tearing and blood hitting the floor and bones cracking, the sound of Orion's agony and Kalibak's jubilant laughter.

From the thrones, Darkseid and Dark Phoenix watched on, as though was it merely a gladiator's match in an arena for public consumption. The Goddess of Despair flanking them watched the battle with a bored look in her eyes.

The moments passed idly. For about the first minute of Orion's pummeling, the seconds could be counted by the blows that Kalibak dealt him. Once that time was up, Kalibak quickened his pace and Orion's wincing had died down. Kalibak hadn't noticed that his victim wasn't responding anymore, he was having a ton of fun with almost literally beating Orion's everything out.

After dealing another blow to Orion's blood-soaked eye, Kalibak decided that this sufficed. He turned half a rotation, then began to walk away, pleased with himself. About four metres was all the distance that Kalibak had gotten between himself and the man who had been beaten deep into the wall, before he heard Orion's voice and a semi-focused grunt.

He spun, a smirk on his lips yet surprise clear in his eyes, glaring at the mauled New Genesis resident. "You live still?" he questioned. Then, he mentally chided himself for that. "Of course, you do," he said, knowingly. "You would not be worthy of godhood, nor our shared blood, if you died so readily."

The God of Lust walked forward again, carrying himself like he was strolling through a meadow, towards the undying remains of his brother, with balled fists.


	7. Demons, part four

It was less than common knowledge, to the inhabitants of any particular plane, that there existed other planes than one's own - whatever one might choose to call them. For some, the moniker-of-choice was universes or realms, with others, it was planes or timelines. Then there was the classic and counter-intuitive label, dimensions.

There were certain extraordinary people who knew that for a fact, and there were a effin' large number of sentient races whose scientists had formulated such theories, that was true. To the average person, that particular tidbit was as foreign as it was irrelevant in mundane circumstances, though.

What was even less commonly known among the assorted gods and mortals, and other things, of all the worlds was that there between the infinite realms existed other and strange kinds of space - much in the same way that there were empty gulfs between the planets and stars of a spherical reality.

The Bleed that enveloped the Justice League's multiversal group, the Void around the realities where the Avengers and X-Men and Time Lords existed, the Blind Eternities... there were no shortage of these things in the Omniverse, really.

It was in one of these interstice-spaces that Shuma-Gorath existed at the moment, one of his own making. Around the green terror was a blandly-white nothing. The eldritch horror himself was drifting peaceably in this whiteness, his eyelid closed and his multitude of tentacles in a state of easy relaxation.

A short distance before the Lord of Chaos in the whiteness, a number of cubes drifted lethargetically through the void. All five of them were the same size; roughly one square metre.

Four of those - the planes intended for demons, Pokemon, Duel Monsters and Digimon in his constructed universe - were virtually identical: Vast lands and oceans in miniature were at the bottom of each cube, bright blue skies at their upper sections.

The fifth was different, for it had a vast grey expanse at its lower region and couldn't make its mind up about what color sky it wanted to have. At the moment, the residents of the mortal-intended world were treated to the sight of a green sky. After a moment had passed, it was red. A while later, it was purple-black.

Shuma-Gorath's pink eye opened, gazing upon the five worlds.

_"Five three-dimensional worlds, each one imbued with a lifespan and a volume that will define the word 'infinite'. Reality strengthened so greatly that nothing can ever disrupt the order of either space or time. New laws for all things of substance or soul to abide by. Truly, these are my greatest work, unrivalled in these past fifteen billennia of my life. Yet, the great work, the gift, is not yet complete. It is still too small to be adequate._ _An odd thought, now that I think about it, for what can meaningfully expand the infinite?"_

The answer immediately made itself clear to him, something recalled rather than something realized. "Very well," murmured Shuma-Gorath. This step of the project was scheduled to be seventeen centuries away still, but he was willing to be flexible.

* * *

Highfather soon found his stroll through the meadow interrupted, his seeking of refuge from grief ended. From behind him sounded a strange thing, like the breaking of- Izaya was surprised by the conclusion of his thought. It was the sound like that of a Mother Box gently guiding space into a new shape, but worse than he had ever heard. This eerie hollering, he could only identify as space being broken.

"What can cause such a thing?" he whispered a thought, while turning around to its origin. What he saw was a green tentacled creature whose pink-red eye was focused on him.

"Well met," greeted Shuma-Gorath, jovially, "Highfather of New Genesis. I am known by the name, Shuma-Gorath Aensland, in the world I come from. I come to you this day because there is a matter of celestial importance that need to be discussed. I presume that you are neither busy nor disinclined to converse?"

After a moment of giving him a tired look, Highfather exhaled gravely. _"I suppose that this might serve as a distraction from these dire times,"_ decided the god-king. "I shall give you whatever insights I am able to give."

Shuma-Gorath hovered, his tentacles quietly animate. After a bit of thought, he began, "I am something akin to a shaper and designer of existence itself, Highfather. Tell me, how much do you know of the nature of spacetime?"

Highfather inclined his head, inwardly perplexed by the leap of topic. "I am not particularly studious in these fields myself," disclosed the pale-haired man, "but a number of scientists are among my charges, and practical experiences have imparted a number of revelations upon me like my meditations of the Source has."

Shuma-Gorath responded with a pleased look. "Then you are aware that the universe is lamentably finite. Every passing draw all things closer to the end. Whatever else is true, the material planes are all doomed to someday become endlessly-vast nothingnesses as space expands and as all their contents are whittled away by the passing of the eons."

"Grim fates indeed," intoned Highfather. "Do I assume correctly that you intend to somehow stave them off?"

Shuma-Gorath bobbed his head, pink eye now literally-and-figuratively gleaming.

"What I intend to forge is a new universe," related the demon, "to replace the ever-shifting mess of space-time pathways and realized possibilities that is currently in place beyond this plane. In that realm, the fabric of space will be woven into a new, linear, and unbendingly resilient form. Unlike here in the Fourth World, where physical space is a finite volume, this universe's space will be genuinely endless and eternal, and fortified against the sort of spatiotemporal chaos that plague and pervade the various multiversal groups of the present era."

"New law-systems, for both the material and spiritual, will be put in place to help reinforce it all," Shuma-Gorath's tone was one of unabashed glee at what he related, "and ensure that none, whether through instruments crafted by arts mundane or magical, will ever again be able to distort the shape and way of the universe."

"What I require to fashion this perfected universe is an extant plane of existence, to serve the role of receptacle for all that exists within every actualized space-time pathway. Through this, the perpetual donation of new substance and power, this new universe will forever be able to avoid the one form of death that it might yet succumb to - the eons-slow decline of all, and the sputtering-out of the stars to dust."

"As you likely already have inferred," related Shuma-Gorath sheepishly, his eye looking away from Highfather, "this, I would have the Fourth World be - for is it not true that the infinite universes are but bubbles in this one realm of gods? For that reason, the Fourth World fits my requirements particularly well, and I have come to hear whether you would agree with I that the Fourth World is suited as the core for this existential shift."

"I will not prevaricate about its ramifications," disclosed the green and floating god to the robed and standing god. "The Source Wall will become just an immense heap of rock and corpses adrift among the stars. The influences of the one who is known to your pantheon as the Source will be exorcised from the Fourth World. The Mother Boxes will all cease to operate, and the Boom Tubes particularly impossible to conjure."

"What say you?"

What could one say to that, wondered the god-king. Whoever or whatever this Aensland was, he was quite mad, that much was certain - or else, he was unspeakably dangerous. In either situation, he was guilty of no small amount of blasphemy against the Source, and a modicum of hypocrisy.

He doubted that anything he said would matter; one who would plan something so thoroughly could not readily be dissuaded.

"I will say," voiced Izaya, indifferently, "that you certainly have contemplated this comprehensively, Sir Aensland. Though I indeed believe that what you intend can produce the kind of universe that you seek, I will not offer you our universe as a subject for your ambitious project," not, Highfather decided against saying, that he believed it was a genuine choice.

"What you seek, Shuma-Gorath, will cause great and unnecessary tumult," stated Highfather, standing stern. "Myriad mortals would have to readjust everything they know of life and science and cosmography for the sake of your vision. A more current concern is that these people would be defenseless against the rulers and forces of Apokolips, at a time when we gods of New Genesis are at our weakest and least able to defend them."

Highfather paused a moment, before beginning again. "I will not take up arms against you, for I recognize that you intend only the best for the cosmos. I beseech you, Shuma-Gorath - have consideration for the, well, quite uncountable people whose lives your celestial decision would affect, and choose a less impactful course of action in achieving this goal."

"Act if you must, and with compassion if you can - **this** is the insight that I, Highfather, has to give."

Shuma-Gorath swayed back a bit, tentacles motionless. His eye lidded closed. "Then," spoke the mouthless one, "I suppose that there is nothing else that needs be addressed between us, Highfather."

The effect was as unmissable to Highfather as it was swift, though there was nothing to physically sense of the event. He could simply feel it, everywhere around him - it was both familiar and unfamiliar, a sensation that he mused might make for a good poem, a silent something behind what he beheld that felt unutterably _different_ from what had been there previously.

In every nook and cranny of space that there existed in the gulf between New Genesis and the Source Wall, great changes were worked at that moment, by the will of Shuma-Gorath that told reality - in no uncertain terms - to sit down and shut up and go along with him.

At a multitude of places across that expanse, each far away from the others, black holes just ceased to exist like they had never been, and the linearity of three-space was restored. Elsewhere, the God of Knowledge found that his meditative gazing upon an emerald sun met with an unwelcome conclusion, namely, his Mobius Chair spontaneously ceasing its more elaborate function of traversing time. Beyond the Source Wall, the infinite came to be, and supplanted the undimensioned spaces that was there before it.

The timestream suffered only moreso by the act than the Fourth World's space - the whole structure plain and simple unraveled, until nothing remained of the past but memories in minds both mortal and divine, and the future was rendered a blank canvas.

An indefinable distance beyond the Fourth World, in normal spacetime, the released will and power of Shuma-Gorath took to another endeavor - at the starting moment of the year nineteen-billion across a dozen actualities, in the great gulf between galaxies and close to a single blue star, a colorless and substanceless two-layered bubble manifested. At the center of the five-dimensional thing, the Appetite aspect of the metaphysical force called Shuma-Gorath was eagerly awaiting the feast, and as its surface, a simulation of a Boom Tube. Silently, it began to expand, its pace continually accelerating; not even after a minute, the intertwined forces were sweeping across one-hundred-metre spans of empty space a second, had reached back that far back through time, and extended their reach to one-hundred-and-six universes.

And, back in the Fourth World, Shuma-Gorath voiced, "Oh, and before I forget, you spoke of Apokolips having rulers," to Highfather. "Has Darkseid been overthrown, or forced to share power?" In hindsight, thought Shuma-Gorath, perhaps ignoring the god-realm's affairs for so long was an unwise decision.

"He has taken a wife," answered Highfather, flatly, "her chosen moniker is Dark Phoenix."

A curious mood filled the pink eye. "Dark Phoenix on Apokolips?" questioned the tentacled demon-deity. "However did this development come about?"

"This," admitted the god-king, "I know not. All that I know of her origins is that she was once a mortal woman named Jean Grey. How the paths of Darkseid and Dark Phoenix ever crossed is something that we have ever been unable to ascertain."

In hindsight, thought the antediluvian demon, that should have been a possibility he had considered.

* * *

One of the rooms adjacent to Lady Aensland's bed-chamber was the room where she had her video game collection. It was there that she was now, seated in a high-backed chair which was outfitted with brown-colored leather. Depicted upon the oval screen before her was a dark and star-littered expanse, where a pair of spaceships were locked in battle and exchanging much laser-fire.

Quietly, Shuma-Gorath slid into existence, a distance left of her. Almost in the corner of her eye, the kimono-wearing succubus observed his arrival. "Hello, Shuma," she greeted him matter-of-factly, not taking her attention off the game.

The green-skinned demon simply floated, a lethargic swaying motion. "I come bearing good tidings, beloved."

At this, Morrigan quickly made to pause her game. One thing she had come to learn was that his definition of 'good tidings' commonly aligned only vaguely with that of the common demon. She turned her head his way, moving to support her jaw-region with her balled left hand. "Whatever might this be?"

"Morrigan Aensland," announced the tentacled thing, "I bid you a happy birthday."

Her expression solidified into an amused semi-frown.

"On this glorious occasion," he went on, raising a tentacle on his right side towards her, "this day that you celebrate your 2500th year of life, I have brought you this," several ghostly shapes manifested in the air between them. At their center, Morrigan observed a pitch-black sphere, and surrounding that one, five different cubes of identical size and differing colors.

"I acknowledge that the collection may seem small from the outside," said Shuma-Gorath, "but I am certain that you will find these realms to your liking. Half of these six represent the categories of deity, mortal and demon, whereas the other three are inhabited by different sorts of monsters and abide by the laws of a role-playing game."

A mixture of emotions - both amusement and bemusement, and faint disbelief, and others - washed over her countenance, before her expression settled on the fragment of a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. The look in his eye turned bashful, and he wondered if he had done the delivery of the present poorly in some manner.

It appeared, thought the queen as she rose and moved to face him, that he was not quite the cosmic control-freak she remembered having concluded once. The succubus affixed him with a questioning gaze. "Is _this_ the real reason you've devoted all these centuries to all these atrocities?" the tone of her voice was not quite accusatory; if anything, resigned as well as curious. She knew well that her husband didn't think the same way as the common demon did, but she was still a bit surprised to learn of this.

A bashful unease flickered to life in his eye. He wondered idly what the Great Young Ones would think of this particular detail. "It is... one of the reasons behind it. You will likely be pleased to hear that I've abandoned the black hole method."

Her expression brightened a smidge. "Quite so. But really, Shuma," she said with a bit of a wry chuckle, "moderation is just a word in the dictionary to you these decades, isn't it?"

His initial response was a simple, "perhaps," and to himself, he mused that he hadn't done much self-analysis this decade. He considered the idea of taking a meditative sojourn for a century or two, before deciding against it - the alternative, the spending of that span of time with her on mundanity's idle and sweet pleasures, was more inviting.

"And, before I forget to ask," added Morrigan, sounding amused, "do you believe that my birthday is today? In general," she specified, "or for that specific number."

His eye widened momentarily, in brief-lived surprise. "I am ashamed to admit," spoke the mouthless one, his voice quietened, "that I might have lost track of it at some point. My... I'm sorry."

She sighed, walking up to him. Briefly, the succubus stroked the portion of his body above the eyeball.

"Shuma," opened the succubus, sternly. "In all the endless years that I have known you, I have had to cope with the idea of unspeakable acts and the knowledge that you were perpetrating such. Yet, the closest thing to a constant in those ages," an earnest smile took form on her face, "has been your place by my side. Your failing to keep an accurate track of one of my birthdays will not change that."

The pink-red eye gained a weary quality. Truly, thought the ancient one, he was treated better than one like him deserved.

"Just do not," cautioned the lime-haired queen, tone a smidge chiding, "make this into a habit."


	8. Darkness, part four

Desaad's main laboratory was, as was common, a quiet affair.

All in all, it measured about forty square metres of fairly-crowded space. The walls of the room were a pristine silver, as were its ceiling and floor, and it was all pretty short on reflective surfaces. A single large lamp, built into the floor at the very center of the room, served to illuminate it.

Over by the left wing of the Pain God's lab, a series of large glass tubes extended from floor to ceiling. Each was filled with a color-lacking liquid, and the fifth from the right was occupied, by a dragon child. One young wyvern had black-yet-red-tinged scales across much of its body along with four pale-blue wings on its back, and was napping with its arms on its stomach.

In other regions of the lab were assorted other torture-devices and contraptions and machines, built and maintained by none other than Desaad.

It was into this room that Darkseid was stepping at the moment, and in this room that Desaad had spent the past few weeks on never-ending toil and malign experimentation. "Desaad," his voice rang out across this cavern of technology, "your lord requests your presence."

The oily-haired deity froze, amid his examination of his once-more rebuilt computer, at the center of the room. The one who had mastered the laws of physics turned to his god-king, and made a revering bow to ancient Darkseid. "My liege," murmured the New God of Pain, "I am unspeakably honored that one such as you would grace me with your presence. However can I serve on this exalted occasion?"

"You can begin," snarked Darkseid, "by ceasing your sycophantic prattle. Then you can state what you have been able to determine over these past days."

The godling rose to his full height, standing with his arms folded. "Well, my liege, I am afraid that I have not much to tell. Whatever the origin or nature of the recent phenomenon, it has had... hm... it has not caused significant changes to the laws of the universe," disclosed the violet-robed scientist.

"If the effects are anything, they would be a simplification of them. As but one example, irregular spacetime conditions and effects such as black-hole singularities and the Boom Tubes no longer seem to be possible," Desaad went on. "I cannot yet make any firm assertions, not without closer observations than from galaxies away, but I haven't been able to observe any sign of spacetime curvature or unusual spacetime conditions anywhere nor been able to replicate such even with devices that were formerly capable of such."

Darkseid regarded him flatly. If nothing else, noted the New God of Tyranny, this explained much - why both he and Phoenix had experienced the fading of godly might, and why Pythia had lost her foresight. "Thus," continued Desaad, "I believe that the restriction on matter's motion called the light-speed barrier might no longer apply, and provide an alternative to Boom Tube travel into other galaxies."

Darkseid's eyes took on a curious slant. "Elaborate on that, Desaad."

"Gladly, my eternal lord," smiled Desaad, broadly. "I won't bore you with all the mathematics and theoretics at work, but my theory is rooted in the negation of abnormal spacetime conditions. If this should be discovered to hold universally true, then causality cannot be violated through superluminal motion. No matter how fast one were to travel per second, be hundreds of metres or at the very speed of light, the rate of time-passage should constant and one-directional. Based on that, and the fact that Lightray remains able to accelerate his body to the usual extents even now, I conclude that the sole hurdle to overcome in building superluminal spacecraft is the issue of accumulating sufficient energy to propel the ships to such speeds."

Darkseid remained still, pensively regarding Desaad. After a moment, he spoke, and thusly, "See to it, then, that the technological supremacy of Apokolips over all other planets across the cosmos entire be maintained, Desaad, for what is it to be a deity if one's power is not absolute and uncontested?"

"It shall be done, my liege," replied Desaad, solemnly. "I shall exhaust every iota of my genius to devise spacecraft and weaponry unlike anything before, for the glory of Apokolips. This, I swear."

Motionless, wordlessly, Darkseid observed him for a moment. "And if you fail, Desaad, if you should fail in that endeavor, then know this," announced the stone man. "The advances that you make will be acceptable, for even without superluminal space travel, the powers of Apokolips will still have the means to reach the galaxies that lie beyond my world - simply, by traversing the endless gulfs at the speeds of mortal science."

A momentary, uneasy pause took root in the room as Desaad processed that. Even now, knew the Pain God, it was a rare thing for his lord to be lenient.

"Tell me," ordered the craggy-bodied man, "of the laws of magic, whatever they be. What have you discerned, that might allow my thusly-disempowered servants to once more serve as they have for decades by the dozen?"

Desaad moved down, to bow. "My sincerest apologies, my all-powerful master, but I have yet to begin studying the arcane more than passingly. My studies this past week have been in the fields of science and astrophysics."

He simply turned left, gazing towards the ceiling. "Be it thus. Persist in your efforts of knowledge-gathering, Desaad, and let no avenue of thought go ignored to you in your craftings, for this might well be the dawn of the Fifth World. For the conquests to come, Apokolips must ever remain the height of power in the universe."

* * *

"I used to be his father's wife," aired Mortalla, to no particular one of her bedmates. Man of Eyes decided to ignore her, knowing that sentence by rote. None of the four answered, Kalibak because he was busy with kissing the ascended-mortal and getting the ex-mutant into a proper mood, the other three because they didn't much care to indulge her.

She frowned, but decided against pressing the topic. It didn't much matter, really; so mused the goddess. "It can hardly have been more than a thousand years, since I ceased to be Darkseid's queen, on that **accursed** day when he cast me down among the **rabble** ," her voice harshened with the utterance of that word, "to be a mere servant among the hordes of Apokolips."

The post-Tamaranian released a sigh at that, and glanced away, focusing on memories.

It couldn't have been more than sixty short years, thought Starfire, since the day on Groxious Seventeen, yet the scent of the wolf-flowers was still as difficult to forget. There were only the two of them left now, an unwelcome thought. _"Rest well, Victor."_

"But," continued Mortalla, "it does not matter. Be it in a century or a hundred, Dark Phoenix will fall from Darkseid's favor, and I shall reclaim my throne as his queen. All in due time," she finished, with a chuckle.

The other red-haired Female Fury who occupied the bed - Lady of Swords, was the posthuman's moniker - looked curiously at the sitting woman. _"Why would she utter such brazen disloyalty, on this planet of all? But then, Mortalla has never been wanting for audacity, so perhaps this should not be any surprise to me."_

A voice, that of the overlady of Apokolips, spoke in the magician's mind. _"Why should I not let Mortalla indulge her fantasies?"_

She supposed so, with a mental shrug back to her mistress. Mortalla noted the brief-lived glint in her fellow Fury's eyes with a displeased frown, suspecting to know what it signified.

The quietude of the room was then broken - chased right a window, even - by the sound and sight of their tentacled bed-mate hoisting Kalibak up above the quartet. After a moment, the other three occupiers of the bed lost interest in that momentary distraction.


	9. Demons, part five

Deep in the Infinite City, about a hundred kilometres north of the Necrofriggian think-tank and three-thousand kilometres west of the ever-expanding apartment complex slash fortress where the Shi'ar species had settled after the wars between the factions of the homo genus, a round tower stood.

Up on its roof, sat two blonde blue-eyed humanoid persons - one was dressed in a dark-hued bodysuit. The other one of them wore a shirt and a skirt, of matching blue color, along with a red cape; upon the garment's chest region was a stylized S, upon a bright yellow backdrop.

The pair was quietly sitting up there, enjoying the view of the cityscape and its populace, with their legs off the side.

"What do you think they'll think about us," wondered Winry aloud, "if they could see us now?"

Supergirl turned her head to look curious at the Great Young One. "They, who, precisely?"

Winry didn't precisely know how to phrase her sentiment. "I guess I mean the ordinary mortal versions of us all, out there in the Omniverse."

It was a reasonable thought, supposed the Homeostasis, even if it didn't really see much of a point to it.

On the pan-actuality level, there existed almost as many Winrys as there were iterations of the Amestrian nation's timeline growing back and forth through the fertile soil of time. The JLA unit member guesstimated that all of them were era-typical homo sapiens who were, be that good or ill, living lives of no celestial consequence with the Elric brothers.

They had never been recruited by Shuma-Gorath, and so, never done half of the things the Winry the Homeostasis knew had - they had never met people from other worlds, never worked to break reality, never experienced eternal life or things other than what the human experience permitted in its five-sensory charm. They had neve-

The entity found then its merrily-chugging train of thought derailed, by what it saw through the eyes of the Crystal body - a horde of Klingon sorcerers preparing to conduct an arcane ritual. At the center of the impending bonfire, the entity noted the presence of several Vulpimancers, each one tied to a metal pole. That, decided the spirit, was something requiring intervention.

"A moment, Winry," voiced the female Kryptonian. Winry hmmed, gazing out over the city-scape. Three streets over, she glimpsed a orange bird creature flying above the houses, and soon make a landing at one of them.

Then, the voice of the other blonde sounded again.

"I believe I now have a moment to spend on this topic," Homeostasis hoped it did, but duty always called somewhere in the City. "I imagine that they might be surprised to learn about us," the spirit recalled many times, from just this century, where alternate iterations of its bodies had crossed paths with the Justice League of Avengers, and how they had responded to learning about its roster. "Do you miss the life you once lived, perchance?"

The blonde chosen one of Shuma-Gorath looked curiously at her roof-mate, pondering that. "Well," she replied, after a moment's thought, "not really. I _do_ feel the occasional bit of nostalgia for Resembool and Earth, that I'll admit, but I'm content with the life I've got nowadays."

The Kryptonian girl stared blankly down at the street; the attention of the guiding spirit had wandered off a hundred blocks, where Power Girl was floating above a twenty-foot-tall dinosaur creature.

it took a moment before Supergirl replied. "That is something of a relief, I suppose."

* * *

In a street crowded by mortals - and of course, the odd immortal being - the Tennyson cousins were currently leisurely making their ways downtown on their latest journey. As far as the human eye could follow, there were - on both sides of the street and in both directions - lines of cylindrical buildings. Each one of them was four stories tall, yet no two were quite the same coloration externally.

The quietude was broken by the unmissable sound of an eight-metre-tall quadruped beetle charging through the street. A mild panic and some screaming broke out among the people as they rushed to get clear of the stampeding bug's path; most of them succeeded. The unlucky few got to experience the sensation of being physically trod upon.

In the eyes of both cousins, the irises darted back, their attention centered on the rising hubbub. A flash of emerald light erupted from the brunet, and died down to reveal a reptilian creature hued varyingly black, white and blue. At the same time, Gwen spun to meet it, the words 'Vortess Nebulae' flying from her mouth.'

A distance before the couple, the insect collided, and loudly, with the air.

"Lower your barrier, sorceress, that we may properly do battle," demanded the insectoid creature. The words came out seriously hurried, and almost hard to understand.

Recognizing the incantation, Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Really? I mean, really?"

The Kineceleran shot her a curious look.

"It's using a spell called Time Alter," supplied the ginger. "About a Triple Accel, I think."

"So it's a super-speed thing," concluded the Omnitrix bearer.

"That's the short of it, Ben," replied the homo sapien. "The Time Alter spells forces the caster's body to move way faster or way slower than they can take, so using one of them is practically suicide."

XLR8 nodded as he mulled that over. A moment later, there was another flash of emerald light, and the tailed speedster was replaced by a six-footer bipedal and rock-covered flame. "Who cares how fast this thing is?" announced Heatblast, smugly. "It ain't gonna want to touch _me_!"

The insectoid one snarled, and then leapt high into the air. Heatblast looked almost bored. From his raised hand, a small ball of flame shot up at the four-legged beetle. Somewhat hurried, Gwen walked aside from her estimated spot of its landing.

A moment later, several uneasy onlookers - many of them being of different species - watched and heard the insect's landing. The ginger sorceress turned around to face it.

"So, what's your deal?" she asked of the bug. "Bad guy with a grudge? Mage out to prove yourself? Or, are you a mercenary?"

The insect silently forced herself up again, mentally dispelling the Time Alter incantation. "Don't. Even. _Think,_ " the Pyronite warned the beetle, "about messing with her," the beetle didn't answer with anything more than a grunt.

The fiery biped inclined his head. "Look, I'm a hero. I save people whenever I can, I defend them from every kind of evil there is, and I've done all that for as long as I can remember, and I'll keep doing it as long as I'm around to do it," he disclosed, his voice low, "but here's the thing: If you actually manage to hurt Gwen, then that's gonna go straight out the window. Nothing in the universe would stop me from killing you then."

Satarl knew that full well; this was, after all, the monsters who had killed her grandfather.

"So you better start talking," interjected the mage. "Why did you come after us?"

The beetle released a hollow chuckle. "You wretched things," spat the insect, at her normal pace of speech "you dare pretend to be heroes true? You are nothing more than murderers, the very scum of the deep earth, and you shall pay dearly for what you've done to my hallowed ancestor."

Heatblast inclined his head once more. "You're gonna have to elaborate here, dude," moments like there were when Gwen loved her life. Here she was, confronted with a giant beetle sorcerer who was out for revenge, and it wasn't the smallest bit out of the ordinary, "because I dunno who you're talking about. Also, yannow, most of the people we fight are seriously evil, with a capital everything, so he's really probably not worth avenging."

Satarl knew that. She didn't care. The beetle stood still. Heatblast sighed mentally; by the looks of it, this was gonna get violent, and he wasn't in the mood for that.

The Pyronite erupted with a brief-lived burst of green light. When it was gone, so was Heatblast. Instead, his Nemuina form was there, pointing at the insect. A bright-green cloud of dust, animated by the forces of the mind, carried over towards the beetle, and washed over Satarl.

The beetle physically brushed it with a wave of her head.

"Here we go again," muttered Gwen, half exasperated and eager.


	10. Darkness, part five

Space: An infinite abyss that was mostly empty. No matter where one was, she contemplated, one could reasonably expect to see a billion of the stars that littered the cosmos. Beyond every single one of those, a billion more awaited.

The astral form of the psychic, free of the laws that governed material things, appeared in the gulf between the New God worlds, already appearing the size of either planet. Silently and almost unconsciously, her projected form started to become larger and larger and ever larger.

It pleased her to know that she was still capable of astral-projection. _"Were I still able to bend space, and reach these distant worlds with but a meager thought, it would be ideal, however."_

In every direction that Dark Phoenix could see from here, the spacescape was full of galaxies - to her, they now appeared scarcely larger than they could fit in her palms. It intrigued her to no end to consider all that awaited her out there.

 _"I, Dark Phoenix, hereby command the universe's attention,"_ ran her mental message. _"I am Dark Phoenix, queen and arch-goddess of the planet Apokolips, revered by billions of mortals and served by gods. When religions and mythologies across the universe speak of the ultimate enemy, the supreme evil, I am the one they mean."_

Free from the laws that governed matter, her psionic message swept across the whole damn cosmos in but an instant, heard by creatures of every form and species that baryonic matter could conjure up. It was but a small handful of those planets, thousands among countless trillions, who were able to understand the words that sounded in their minds - be it through knowledge of the language, or some ability or technology that handled translating. Only a handful within that handful possessed psionic abilities with which they could respond to the missive.

 _"When we come, we will bring with us the end of your worlds,"_ conveyed the red-haired telepath. _"The greater goods_ _among you will be made into our servants, and the evil ones elevated to heights unlike any they imagined prior. The citizenry of your worlds will become worshippers of the evil gods. All that you are will be mine, by divine right. Your defeat and humiliations is beyond dou_ _bt against one like myself, and the one who stands beside me, and the many who act my divine will."_

Downwards and straightly southwards from her position, about twenty lightcenturies removed, in a system of red planets around an emerald star, seventeen billion Namekians (and, as well, hundreds of people from other species) resided. On the third-largest world, Emperor Floot nodded to himself, pondering the message. With a grin, he rose from his throne.

Downwards and south-west from her position, and eight galaxies away in that direction, the eternal one who ruled mankind - he who was called Lord Doom - sat upon his throne, stoically listening to the proclamations.

Elsewhere still in the cosmos, long since displaced in time and on a version of his homeworld billions of years ahead, Charles Xavier heard the mental voice of a beloved student, twisted and cruel and almost beyond recognition, and felt concern at it.

Upon the homeworld of the Imperium of Man, the Master of Humanity - freed from the Golden Throne, once the Warp had been wiped from the face of the universe, and the two burdens of that spirit realm lifted from him - was interrupted amid his stroll of the palace by the message. It displeased him greatly to know that even now, when Chaos was no more, humanity yet had a self-proclaimed god with astral powers to face.

* * *

At the center of the hangar bay, a single, broadly rectangular space-vessel was under construction.

Between either two of its sides - northern and southern, or eastern and western, whichever - it currently covered about four kilometres of the floor and also reached three kilometres up from there. Across what was currently its top floor, ran a veritable labyrinth of corridors and bedrooms and halls. The outgrowth had hardly been even or smooth; in a multitude of regions, the contents of lower floors could be glimpsed through gaping and huge holes. As well, rooms and passageways were busily being added on to the structure by remotely operated nanite-swarms and raw material.

Hordes of minions - Parademons to do the heavy lifting, Techno-Chiefs who managed the installations of the more sensitive and complex things like internal-power circuitry and the life-support systems for the individual rooms and the art-grav projectors - trailed about, inside and out the ship.

From atop a platform in the western region of the hangar, four of the local gods - the lord and lady of Apokolips themselves, along with Desaad and Big Barda - were watching the whole hurried fuzz unfold.

"Is it not glorious, supreme ones?" Desaad's voice was low, filled with reverence for the rulers. Neither husband or wife looked his way, focusing instead on the ship. "I am certain that you will find it most satisfactory. When it is finished, it will be perhaps the most formidable ship ever built, on Apokolips or on New Genesis!" he sounded positively ecstatic, now.

"Once the ship has been fully constructed, the nanite-probes will have ensured that the hull is utterly beyond damaging," exulted the lesser deity. "How it pleases me to dream of the grandiose battles yet to waged in the void between the stars and the planets, across the infinite, and the suffering they will bring to the mortals," in his loins, the robed madman felt a stirring that he found most familiar.

None of the three deities with the god of pain said anything in response to that, keeping instead their attention on the spaceship.

After a moment, Desaad spoke again. "Would it please my divine majesties if I were to pontificate about the virtues of this mighty vessel?"

Darkseid inclined his head his underling's way, affixing him with a look that spoke measures. "You may continue, Desaad," he replied. "At this juncture, it would make little difference for you to do so or to refrain from such."

The greasy-haired godling's face lighted up. "You shall never want for space aboard the ship, my lieges, for there shall be almost four-hundred floors, and to each, four-hundred rooms. The myriad amenities there will surely please," he assured the ruling duo.

"For your convenience, first and foremost," exposited the God of Pain, "there will be the likes of the swimming pool hall on floor seventy and the six observation decks, and then the meditation chamber on floor eighty-five if the mood for that activity should strike you sometime," Dark Phoenix supposed that, considering the time-scale, it would be an inevitability.

"In addition to those facilities," continued the evil genius, "there is the combat hall on floor seventy, for the times when the passengers might feel the need to relieve tension or resolve some dispute. Everything of this vessel, this formidable vessel, will be encased in an immense shell that shall be impervious to every kind of mortal assault and every amount of force. I am certain that you will find it luxurious lodgings in the centuries to come," once Desaad finished speaking, he stayed silent.

Dark Phoenix's lips tugged upwards, almost a smidge. _"Fascinating little decision on Desaad's part, eh, dearest one?"_

 _"Indeed so,"_ ran his mental response. To Desaad, he spoke, "see to it that you do a satisfactory job with those chambers of the ship that yet are to be constructed."

His face lit up. "And will I be severely punished for it, should I fail? Oh, I can barely contain my own excitement," he gushed aloud, sounding to all the world like he was actually sincere, "at the thought of the ease with which either of my divine sovereigns will be able to subject one such as I to a stay in a firepit."

Desaad went ignored. Barda spoke up. "I grow mildly curious, supreme ones; in your absences, what or who is to govern Apokolips?"

Neither one of them turned to regard her. It was Darkseid who answered her, his voice sounding flatly to her mind's ear. _"That task and privilege has been given to Mortalla. What transpires in our absence, however, is of no celestial significance."_

An iota of confusion showed on Barda's face, but quickly died down when it returned to the Goddess of Despair that - despite how little he made use of it and how often the mistress did - lord Darkseid also possessed the gift of telepathy.

Down in the ship, the Apokoliptian god-prince stood. He was flanked by a tall ebon-haired woman, who stood garbed in a crimson golden-starred suit that covered most of her abdomen and lower body yet bared her cleavage and her well-proportioned arms.

Before Kalibak and Troia was a single doorway, about eight square metres big, whose door had slid aside and revealed the room inside to their eyes.

In large part, the bed-chamber had been hued a faded orange, from the ceiling and down to the floor. By the left wall of the room, almost where it met the back wall, the gargantuan bed had been positioned, and equipped with an abundance of pillows. At the center of the floor, a crimson-glass lamp - surrounded by a metal ring; its purpose eluded her - was positioned, and softly illuminating most of the room.

Beyond that, neither the god or the ascended-goddess observed anything in the room that were its doors or its walls.

"Satisfactory, even as a blank canvas yet to be moulded by its inhabitant, would you not agree?" voiced Kalibak to the woman next to him.

Donna pursed her lips, taking another momentary glance at it. "I would deem it just so, prince Kalibak, though it affronts me to merely behold it."

Kalibak turned his head her way, a note of curiosity in his eyes. "Why is that so, Troia?"

"By its presence, it reminds me that I am but an alien on this world," she explained, feeling strangely nostalgic at that for a reason she couldn't place. "Though it be divine will that I am here at all, it is also divine will that I now leave it," she fell silent, a note of displeasure visible to Kalibak on her face.

"What, precisely, troubles you about that?" he inquired.

A moment passed before the Female Fury answered. "I suppose that," she paused for the fraction of a second, "hurh, that my discontent stems from my life's circumstances," she took a longer pause this time, before speaking on.

"Dark Phoenix ruined me, a very long time ago," sighed the coal-haired Fury. "She took everything in my mind that I thought good about myself, and made it into everything that I never wanted to be. Worse still, she let me keep the essence of who Donna Troy used to be," related Troia, her voice growing wistful, "so I can know precisely what I have become," another pause in her venting ensued.

"They forced me to kill my own people, the Amazons," she murmured, almost so quietly he didn't hear her. For hundreds of years, they have sent me to kill their enemies for them, with no reward of any kind for it," a faint growl crept into her voice, "and my children were taken from me to be worked, mentally and bodily, into living weapons, and tasked to die for the glory of my gods. All that I have is what they deigned to give me and have yet to take away."

Concern filled Kalibak's eyes. He doubted that a meager 'I am truly sorry for everything that you have endured because of my father' would suffice here.

"What is perhaps the worst thing of all," her voice was softer, and much more plaintive, "is that I do not hate my gods for all this. Perhaps she does not allow me that state of mind, or maybe I simply do not feel any resentment towards them. Whatever the case, I am simply glad that Diana and my other sisters are not here to see me in all my wretched glory. Thank you for hearing me out, Kalibak."

He almost wanted to laugh at that, like she somehow expected otherwise. "Troia, together we have made both war and love, on occasions uncountable. You are perhaps the one thing I have to a true battlemate. It is my honor and my pleasure to lend you an ear when you feel the need for one."

She almost wanted to laugh at that. "How like yourself that sounds, God of Lust."

Silently, he draped his arm over her shoulders; his intent carried wordlessly to her. Together, the Apokolips denizens entered the bed-chamber. It was with the press of a switch that the door slid closed.


	11. Demons, part six

A fair bit north-ward of Morrigan's castle, there was a six-sided tower - quite a fair bit bigger, in every regard, than the majority of the buildings and the demons around it. Almost one-hundred metres wide, as a matter of fact. From its roof to its base, vines were growing out of the building, from windows and also from cracks in the walls.

In some region of the colorful forest that was visible through the absent roof, about one-hundred-and-thirty demons had decided to hang out at the moment. The queen, though, wasn't one of them. Rather, she was over at the tower to the west of her castle. This one was similarly connected to the castle by a great bridge, but this tower didn't have a forest as its scenery of choice.

Five onyx walls enclosed a wide and sandy area. Nearly at the center of the place, stood the primary combatant - the succubus queen herself, garbed in form-fitting red pants and a backless white shirt, her arms folded.

Her last-standing adversary stood before her - an anthropomorphic and eight-feet-tall demon, and a very burly one of her ilk at that. Her skin was violet and scaly, and in a few places, spikes broke out through her skin. Two hairless heads stood upon her shoulders, each one adorned with gleaming crimson eyes and a wide mouth full of fangs and a small pair of horns on the forehead.

Around the arena were a handful of other demons - a four-headed hellhound a distance on the left side behind Morrigan, something perhaps best described as a fleshy lump that walked on eight legs and whose mouth formed a ring around its body lying unconscious next to a vampiric werewolf a stone's throw behind the purple demon. Closer to the walls, two demons watched the stand-off - the one was Shuma-Gorath; the other was named Astaroth, a succubus of a different species than Lady Aensland.

"If it is all the same to you," voiced Morrigan, puncturing the tension in the air, "I would like for this little session to conclude," a light shone around her as Morrigan activated that of her abilities which her union with her sister had most strengthened.

What manifested behind her was not merely a doppelganger of the succubus, such as she had been restricted to in ancient times, but a twelve-feet-tall violet-hided snake with eight muscular arms and four pairs of long wings.

Beelzebub looked aghast. This, she hadn't expected. _"Either this particular ability of hers requires less mana than I had estimated, or her supply is greater than I thou-"_ the snake lunging for her interrupted her amid the thought. Almost reflexively, the woman did the only thing she could think of. With a forward push of her left paw, she fell over backwards, and hurried to roll aside.

The serpent smirked dismissively, quickly pulling her left-second arm back to deliver a punch. Beelzebub released a pained groan, rolling a short distance, ending faces-last in the sand.

"That was," she took a moment to consider how to end that sentence, her vision steadily clearing, "not fun," before sitting up. A frown appeared on both faces. By her paws, a part of the serpent's body laid. _"This bodes poorly."_

The voice she heard next - "I advise," ran the calm voice of the queen, "your surrender, before this little contest suffers any casualties." - only punctuated that fact for her.

"I surrender," the two-headed demon sighed. The apparition of the snake became ghostly, and drew back into its conjurer. Morrigan strode forward a bit, and held her hand out to her. Beelzebub watched the extended appendage, uncertainly. "Thank you," she responded, standing up, "but I am well enough to stand on my own legs."

The succubus folded her arms, a mild smirk on her face. "Decide that as you will. I would, regardless, like to know why precisely you and your bunch decided to seek me out for combat?"

The violet demon scoffed indifferently. "Does it really matter? You won our scrap."

Morrigan's expression took a turn for the severe. "It very much does. As the queen of the Demon World, I have a responsibility to its citizenry, and if there exists some grievance about the way I govern, then I owe it to my subjects to rectify that if I can. I ask you again, why did you come?"

Beelzebub scrutinized Morrigan sternly, for a moment's time.

"Well, I don't suppose there would be any harm in telling you," she spoke, eventually. "Marquis Leraje and Duke Barbatos of the Ars Goetia's Court hired us to try and kill you."

Morrigan's countenance remained stony. _"Not unexpected,"_ she noted. "Thank you for the concise and direct answer. I assume that there will be no further attempts on my life from your side, correct?" the question was accompanied by a coy smile growing on her face.

Seeing the look on Morrigan's face, Beelzebub felt an urge to run. "That's... a reasonable assumption."

"I hope for your sake that it is also correct," she said, then turned away from the two-headed fiend. Her gaze went straight over the vamp-werewolf. "Werewolf, I believe that your name was Felix?"

The vampire looked confusedly over at the succubus. "About right, but why do you ask?"

"Because," Morrigan began walking forward, speaking as she went, "I would like to offer you to join my employ. A hybrid of vampire and werewolf is a rare thing, even in the Demon World, and I would most assuredly like one like you as a member of my personal squadron," she paused in her movement, in front of the beast.

"In return for accepting this offer, you will be given housing and regular meals at my castle, the autonomy to pursue your own interests between the tasks you will be assigned, and the same empowerment that the others have received. You will not receive any negative repercussions for rejecting my offer, that I want to make clear."

The werewolf stood, mouth set in a smirk, fangs bared.. "Well, that sounds pretty damn good, and I've half a mind to take you up on it. What gets me suspicious, though," the good humor in his voice died down, "is that you're being all vague about this 'empowerment' detail. What is that, exactly?"

She allowed a small smirk. "A ritual called Demonic Ascension. It confers immortality, as well as an eternal maturation process. With every passing year, your form will mutate because of the spell, and you will become a little bit more of what you already are, in every regard. In time, the title of Old One will be yours."

Pure and unmitigated shock flashed over his face, and his mouth went agape at that. He'd heard the legends of the Great Old Ones, of the demons - ancient and powerful beyond anything known on the surface or in the Deeper Pits - that transcended even Queen Morrigan and the greatest of Hell's other powers when he was but a whelp set loose in a library.

Felix almost couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that the head of the Aensland family was offering him to become one such creature. _"Hell, I'm kinda surprised the oldest thing in Hell isn't one of them herself..."_ "That's a very salubrious offer," spoke the demon, "and I would sure as all Hell be honored to accept."

There was a pause, almost so brief it wasn't really noticeable, before Morrigan spoke, "Shuma, would you care to do the honors?"

The floating ball of green flesh began to chant, in a language that nobody present understood, eye aglow. Almost without warning, the vampiric werewolf began to burn with emerald-hued energies.

Though it was only somewhat visible, beneath the emerald fire-light that had erupted from the creature, the amalgam's body was shifting.

The demon's claws began to grow longer and rounder, on the surface and beneath, on both his hands and feet, and the flesh receded from them, until they were talons a quarter-metre long.

The hybrid demon's teeth grew in the much the same fashion as his claws had. All the while, his body-proportions grew more burly. A pair of leathery, maroon-brown in hue beneath the deep-green light that they were suffused with, wings began to sprout from the back of the fiend.

Then, the light around him died down, and left the light-blue glow from his eyes visible to the witnesses of that little spectacle.

Felix studied his claws, lightly flexing his fingers a few times. It amazed him how... _refreshed,_ he decided, this felt. It was honestly like he'd slept forever, and woken up with every bit of injury and fatigue expelled from him. If there was such a thing as perfection in hell, this was how it would be.

"This," breathed the were-vampire, "is _awesome_!"

* * *

Before her, an empty whiteness unfolded.

A distance ahead, she observed a number of everythings adrift in the nothingness, all on somewhat of a straight line. A smidge of curiosity showed at her eyes, as there were one more than she remembered of them.

"What new surprises might this have?" queried the succubus to the green thing. His eye slid left.

"Not a great deal," replied Shuma-Gorath, raising a tentacle to the left side's dark-and-starry sphere. "Realm of the Eight Gods, I beseech thee, show us what lies within."

Silently, the orb began to radiate umbral light. Before the cluster, a shadow began to take form. As it solidified, a vast vortex of reds and blues and purples and whites became visible upon it. Around it, a number of stars burned brightly, many in their own hues.

Morrigan's gaze studied the spacescape with a measure of interest and fascination.

"A pleasing sight, is it not?" inquired the green lump of flesh.

"An apt description, I suppose," replied the succubus, after a bit of thought. "Perhaps you can enlighten me as to whom these 'eight gods' are?"

"The ruling pantheon of this particular plane," related Shuma-Gorath. "They have divided themselves into two quartets of creators and destroyers, and work in concert to reverse the degeneration of the cosmos."

The lime-haired succubus shrugged, disinterested in what 'the degeneration of the cosmos' as he phrased it entailed. Her eyes resumed their wandering across that bit of that cosmos. She allowed herself a moment to marvel in the vastness of it.

A thought soon occurred to her.


	12. Darkness, part six

Far out in space, so far that the dreadful fire-storm of a planet only known as Apokolips was but a somewhat large speck in the background, a spaceship drifted downward through what the Oans had designated as space sector zero-zero-seven-four.

The vessel was broadly rectangular, yet its edges were curved mildly. The vessel's chassis was a hue of black reminiscent of burned flesh. Its six external surfaces were solid and flat; almost nowhere on them were there any cracks or dents, to notice on the spacecraft. The exceptions laid at the center of every surface, in the form of holes that were almost eighty metres wide. Around those gaps in the structure, there were a hundred metres of solar panel technology - glassy, and filled with circuitry, and drinking the starlight in.

In the depths of the ship, some of Apokolips' mightiest gods were to be found, and each were occupied with their own activities across the hundreds of floors.

On the thirtieth floor, the God of Pain had come to build himself a laboratory to nest himself inside, out of a few dozen rooms. For the past few months of the ship's journey across the cosmos, he had been content to remain there, endlessly building and refining insidious instruments of torture and assorted articles of weaponry, and designing new models of Parademon - everything that he could dream up, he deemed fit to make a reality.

The torturer didn't stop to eat, or drink, or rest his body and mind, half because all that he needed to keep himself going was the exultant bliss that his dreams of the endless suffering and anguish he could cause with his devices brought him, half because of a few benefits of his pantheon's biology.

Most of his fellow travelers tended to leave him to his device and self-indulgent fantasies - a few, like Agogg, because they thought him repugnant, but most commonly because their interest in Desaad began and ended with what he could provide them.

On the seventieth of the ship's floors, Kalibak was laughing so hard from bloodlust that it was unmissable to all his adversaries, even as he was bleeding from three different parts of his abdomen. Behind him stood the one person he might deem a friend, Troia of the Female Furies, with raised fists.

All around the hall, there were signs of the battle that was raging there - scattered bits of the floor was burning while others were coated in a layer of ice, both courtesy of the Dragon of Apokolips, while other regions of the hall had been either dented or outright ripped apart by Starfire's bolts and blows. Still other areas had swords embedded in them, courtesy of the sword-oriented sorcery that Lady of Swords favored in battle.

The god-prince stood surrounded, near and far, by those six he had chosen as his sparring partners for this particular occasion. All but Mad Harriet were still standing at the moment, some more shakily than others. In the maw of the dragon-child, a bit of flame was brewing, and a low growl was escaping him.

Elsewhere on this floor, husband and wife were enjoying themselves an altogether more peaceful occasion than Kalibak's sparring session, over in the pool region.

There, silence reigned, and comfortably so. The lighting of the room was dimmed down, almost so much that the light of their eyes did more to illuminate the area than the lamps did. At the center of the room, the basin was situated - round in, and precisely twenty-seven metres wide as well as five metres deep at its most.

"What do you suppose you will do when we chance upon another inhabited planet? However long the road might be," asked Dark Phoenix. The queen sat opposite the king, by the edge of the basin. "I myself anticipate, quite eagerly, to build another throne of bones upon a mountain of skulls. A tad cliche, I might concede, but why not indulge myself with a classic?"

He decided not to chuckle at that, humorous though he found it. "Whyever carry yourself with such restraint? A river of blood would only be fitting around this manner of throne."

"True enough," smiled Phoenix, "but as appealing as that notion is, I doubt that a blood river would last a great span of time before it clotted. I suppose that it would be a solution to harvest the blood of the citizenry, but that seems rather wasteful simply for the purpose of ornamentation."

That was reasonable enough, decided the god. "Is it merely to be another day of slaughter, then?"

Her smile ceased to be innocent, and became almost teasing. "One might mistake that tone for one of boredom, Darkseid. Weary of the world, are you?"

A slight smirk grew on his face, mixed amusement in his eyes. "That could scarcely be less true, that I assure you. Even after thirty-thousand centuries, the wanderer in my heart yet finds the cosmos an intriguing place to explore, with new conquests and adversaries and sights waiting for us."

It surprised her not one bit to hear. "Though it is unneeded, your reassurance of your fortitude is appreciated, dear."

The mild smirk on his face relaxed. He didn't answer her, simply just relaxing into the silence and the water's warmth.

Without much warning, a voice sounded in her mind, "Why are you doing this?", one that Dark Phoenix recognized as her own.

Many galaxies away from the ship Dark Phoenix was aboard, on the planet called Earth and in the land called America, in a bedroom in a school in Westchester, a red-haired woman sat on her bed with her arms folded.

"Lovely, another incarnation of myself seeking to make her feelings known," bemoaned the goddess, verbally. The god's face became noticeably heavy, with knowing weariness. _"I do what I do because I am evil incarnate, mortal. That is all you need to know._ _"_

 _"I refuse to accept that as an answer,"_ telepathed Jean. _"Just hear me out. I understand what's happening - once I almost lost control of myself to the Phoenix Force too - so I know first-hand how tempting all that power can be, but you have to try to remember Scott and everybody else who loves you. It doesn't have to control you."_

Dark Phoenix wanted to laugh at that more than anything else, particular her mortal self's 'Phoenix Force' delusion.

 _"How touching,"_ returned Dark Phoenix, mental voice heavy with mocking amusement, _"and how utterly wrong you are. You believe that I have lost any of my self-control to something or someone else, that I am merely another's instrument? Mortal fool, I am an arch-deity, she who the gods worship. If either of us labors under any delusion, it would sooner be you, with your Phoenix Force nonsense!"_

 _"I'm sorry?!"_ inquired the earthling telepath. Mocking laughter rang out to her, over their astral connection, irking her.

 _"You know what I mean, Jean Grey,"_ asserted the goddess. _"I speak of the fact that you have maintained a deception so comprehensive that even you believe it truth for quite some time, that there exists some Phoenix Force and that this was this living power which... oh, how does the story go? Did the Phoenix Force possess you while you were dying aboard the space shuttle, or did it create a doppelganger of you before sending a dying woman away to heal? Do you even know this yourself?"_

 _"What are you getting at?"_ questioned the telepath.

 _"I am telling you, Jean Grey, that there is no such thing as the Phoenix Force,"_ announced Dark Phoenix, solemn and forceful. Jean wasn't convinced. _"Consider the absurdity of it, if you doubt me. You believe that there exists some primordial fiery entity, as old as time and the universe, whose appearance and abilities of controlling life and fire are directly drawn from a mythology in your own planet's history. Do you not see the contradiction in that?"_

Jean swallowed, finding the reasoning all too sound.

 _"The cause for that particular oddity is thus,"_ continued Dark Phoenix. _"On that day long ago, you gained powers beyond those of any mortal upon your world. Spirit and time and space and substance, they were yours to command. The guilt you felt is the cause of this particular charade. A deed you should have taken pride in instead shamed you terribly, and_ _so, you began to exert your psychic powers upon the universe. Perhaps you even did it consciously, and just lie to yourself, or perhaps you do not actually know what you have done. In any event, time bent to your will, until you had something else to blame for your deeds."_

 _"You failed even to keep the lie coherent in your own mind,"_ announced the goddess. _"How often has some aspect of what it is and does changed, to suit your lie?_

 _"Why should I believe anyone who openly calls herself evil incarnate?"_ countered Jean.

 _"I care not whether you choose to accept the truth about yourself or to deny it,"_ replied Dark Phoenix, indifferently. _"I will know, and be certain in my knowledge that what I tell you is true. On a tangential note, I believe you have other matters that require your attention."_

Jean frowned uneasily.

Before Scott's worried gaze, his lover fell back over on the bed, hands reaching for her head. An almost pained groan escaped her lips.

"Are you okay?" inquired the brunet, voice tinged with concern. He soon got his answer, by way of her eyes burning whitish-gold and an unsettling chuckle. Upon her face grew a smirk, of a kind such that it didn't exactly indicate a sound mind.

"Okay?" echoed the red-head, in a voice that Scott recognized as both hers and utterly unlike Jean's. "I am perfection, mortal. I am divinity. I am the bringer of the apocalypse, for a thousand worlds and ten-thousand every one of those."

Scott knew what had happened - it was that Jean Grey from an alternate reality who had fallen to the Phoenix Force, and now she had possessed Jean.

"Almost true, little creature," Dark Phoenix corrected his thought. "My mind and my power are my own, directed as I will them," as she spoke, the ethereal flames erupted from her. "I am ruled by nothing, certainly not this little excuse the other Jeans have conconcted to escape their guilt."

"What?" queried Scott. Pain, worse than almost anything he had known in his life, erupted from his left eye and a scream from his throat. The man's hands flew to his face, while his blood seeped out from behind the visor. Her smirk remained unwavering.

"Yes, I imagine that it might sting somewhat," her voice held a measure of feigned concern. Then, she heard the sound of blunt footsteps, followed quickly by a gasp. Phoenix turned to look, seeing an auburn-haired woman garbed in black in the doorway. Shock filled her features.

Dark Phoenix felt an inclination to laugh. _"Fortuitous, a victim."_

She raised her hands. Rogue stiffened in her stance, before lifting off the floor.

"Oh," her voice was full of glee, "what to do with you, little thing?"

She quickly decided her course of action, mentally moving both of the telekinetic holds she had on the mutant. The sound that followed that was one that very few in the Fifth World had ever heard, yet one that Dark Phoenix was familiar with.

Rogue's blood rained down on the floor of the bedroom and the hall, followed by her bones and tattered flesh once Dark Phoenix released her mental grips on them.

A brief while passed. Then, back aboard the spaceship of the gods, Darkseid watched her eyes begin to gleam once more.

"How was your venture?" inquired the God of Fascism.

"Well enough," replied the Goddess of Life and Fire, a grin sent him. "All in all, it was a brief bout of fun, with satisfactory quantities of blood and a lackluster number of bodies. Only one provided a modicum of resistance."

Apokolips, he loved this woman. "Such is the way that mortals are - tiny and bounded in all regard, and nothing before even the presence of a deity," he paused for a moment. Dark Phoenix slipped deeper into the water and its warmth, savoring that sensation. "If you will permit, I have a desire of mine I wish to make known."

"Yes?" was her response, tone tinged lightly with curiosity.

"I would like for us to have a child," disclosed Darkseid.

Uncertainty formed on her face. "A child? Darkseid, I..." she fell silent, briefly. "I will be honest. I am not certain how to respond to that. The ideas of child-rearing and motherhood is not one that I have much considered over the years; if ever I have given that thought, I cannot remember it."

"I infer that your answer is that you will need time to consider it?" speculated Darkseid.

"That is indeed so," affirmed Dark Phoenix.

Renewed silence took root in the air.


	13. The Grand Finale

A white space unfolded around her, seeming almost boundless and pretty much empty in all directions. At what might tentatively be called the center of that whiteness, a woman - of the body-shape shared by the New Gods and the homo sapiens, her hair as red as her eyes and clothes - hung in the nothing.

Her attention was fixed on the handful of objects that also were suspended in this white - a handful of cubes and a pair of spheres, in an arrangement reminiscent of a solar system or a handful of disparate particles.

In the distance just a bit straight ahead of her, the space had generated a single sensory metaphor as a visual description for the pandimensional - a loose cloud of something like plasma, ever-changing in color and shape, and density as well. A multitude of green-glowing threads connected the blue-green thing to the left sphere of darkness and stars.

 _"What strange manner of space am I in?"_ wondered the goddess.

Everything about this place should have been impossible - space-continuums should not be tangible, one space should not contain others, and it was particularly paradoxical for an unbounded volume to appear so small - but it was real, nonetheless.

 _"Is this how space looks from outside?"_ wondered Rachel, finding herself curious to know this truth, a speculative frown forming on her face.

There appeared a certain, though strange, logic to it - atoms were contained within matter, matter floated in space, local space existed in this greater space. She was certain that whoever had created this realm had been quite, quite insane - of that, there could be no doubt, for madness of this sort could never naturally happen.

The red-head looked to one of the spaces, the cube at the left end of the little collection. What she wanted to acquire - be it knowledge about these other universes, something more tangible, or just something to fight - the goddess was not yet precisely sure; when she saw it, she would know.

Her pupils contracted minutely as her gaze focused on it.

A lagoon unfolded before her eyes, and an inflood of sunlight bathed the waters through the the opening in the roof of trees. In the waters, she observed a woman - brown-skinned, lean and shapely. She was not alone; a towering, tentacled creature was with this one, its quiet appendages wrapped around parts of her. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth slightly agape.

The red-head looked to another of them; another cube.

Inside it, there appeared to be a throne room, with no great amounts of furniture in it. A woman who lightly reminded the Greed Goddess of her mother sat upon the throne; a tentacled and green-hided eyeball floated next to her.

The red-haired god-princess focused her mind, extending her mind's ear into the room, "inry?" spoke the succubus queen.

What, or perhaps who, an 'inry' was, the Greed Goddess knew not.

"Truthfully spoken, I do not recall how Winry entered my social circle with precise detail," exposited Shuma-Gorath; his eye moved left, to meet the gaze of the red-haired spectator. She quirked an eyebrow, unsure if the creature was looking at her.

"What I recall is thus. Seven thousand years before today, I seized power over her plane," he related the story. "She was among the ones I took from her world to serve me. In her country, a land called Amestris, I even chanced upon another husband, a human man named Alex Louis Armstrong," he fell silent, as memories of others of his past lovers - Mar-vell the Life-Prince, Hsien-Ko the Death-Princess, Artrok, Gungnir, and all the others - came to the forefront of his mind.

Morrigan listened, a small and coy smile on her face.

The red-head decided that this was no longer fascinating to listen to, and withdrew her astral projection.

In another of the cubes, a great cityscape unfolded. Her irides continually shifted size as she examined the Infinite City. Surprise flashed onto her face, at the sheer diversity of the beings there - for every shape and every color of lifeform that she could dream up, there were people there to match that idea, and more.

The buildings there too were as varied - a violet quadruple-helix, silvery pyramids, a fortress of stone of crisp orange hues, a row of triangular buildings carved from what literally looked to be crystals, and more, all along a street of shining bronze and underneath a green-yellow sky and a bright sun. It was breathtaking, like no world she'd ever seen before.

"I would appreciate to be informed of your identity," a voice called to her. How she'd gotten here, Shuma-Gorath already knew - only a four-dimensional could do that.

She shot a look behind her with her mind's eye. It was just the green creature from before.

The Apokoliptian scoffed, without turning to look at Shuma-Gorath. "Stranger, such is not for your like to know, but you can make yourself useful by providing _I_ with information. Is this bizarre space of your forging?"

"Indeed," replied the Chaos Lord, moderately genial.

It then occurred to the lady of avarice that she couldn't read this being's thoughts. She turned, scowling. "What are you, that you can and would make a space such as this?"

The archfiend thought this amusing.

"There are quite many ways to explain the what of myself, but the who is more briefly told," he exposited. "I am Shuma-Gorath Aensland, husband to Morrigan Aensland, and a most seasoned magician."

Rachel felt inclined at laugh at that; the way he spoke, he seemed to think being this married to this 'Morrigan' character a mark of personal honor.

A thought occurred to her.

 _"If this mortal has brought this about, then has it..."_ she shot him a glare. "Are you then also responsible for the Fifth World losing access to divine science decades ago, when the structure of space was reinforced?"

He supposed he was; what precisely she defined 'divine science' as eluded him, though he inferred it to mean New God technology. "Yes."

Shock mixed with outrage came over her; she hadn't expected him to admit it so directly. Because of him, they had been robbed of celestial devices - Boom Tubes, Worlogogs, Mother Boxes and Father Boxes, Space-Breakers - near the heart of New God society, and rendered nothing more than mortals.

"Then my proposition is as follows," voiced the Apokoliptian, her tone a tight sneer. "What you have done to the Fifth World's plane, I will correct for you. Afterwards, you will refrain from tampering with our space and physical laws forevermore, as you have no right to do," she paused for a moment, to punctuate that statement with a sustained glare.

Though the thought galled her, from what she knew of negotiation, she'd have to... _give the mortal something! Her! A deity, make concessions to a mortal!_

"In exchange for that," she continued, sounding reluctant to even speak, "we, the gods of Apokolips, shall take no action to conquer or disrupt any aspect of these other universes. What do you say to that?"

It was hardly unreasonable - their plane was theirs to do with as they pleased, above everyone else's - but given what Shuma-Gorath knew of the Apokolips pantheon, they would likely not do anything good.

The more Rachel looked upon him, the more she gained clarity of her purpose for being: To be the Fifth World's defense mechanism against one such as him, to mend the all-undermining harm he'd caused the divine.

"Reasonable though you speak, I see no reason why I should even consider it," answered Shuma-Gorath. Displeasure flashed onto her face. "You ask of me only to allow you to disrupt the order of my creation," now he was glad she didn't know of him; the irony of the Chaos Lord championing unwavering order and structure was grand indeed, "with only the promise of your lot refraining to do so more as incentive. Nonetheless, I shall allow it to stand."

She grinned. "A wise decision," she then turned to the gallery of realms.

"Your plane would be the one that is assimilating the rest of the Omniverse," informed Shuma-Gorath, flatly. He watched with a curious eye, as she did it.

Her hand reached out to touch the orb of umbral voids and starlight, and as it began to shift and shine, the green-hided demon understood - her power as an Apokolips god was, had to be, that she could change the strength of reality's structure; in terms of the classic textile metaphor, to weave the fabric of space be woven looser or tighter as she wished it. That, he thought, marked this project as a partial success as much as the continued existence of the Omniverse did.

Rachel's eyes examined the green-gray hazy thing; the meaning of 'omniverse', she inferred from its etymology.

Wordlessly, inwardly pleased with the triumph of her improvised plan, the four-dimensional woman shifted into her space of origin.

All around her, there was now a wide room with slate-grey walls. At the left end, behind her, a small crowd of nine men and woman were gathered, all on a single row. At the other end of the room, there were five people.

One was a man with craggy grey skin, dressed in green garments that left his prominently muscular arms and legs uncovered, and accentuated his stocky build; his arms were folded behind his back. Another was a woman of slender proportions, attired in a body-covering suit colored predominantly red and gold, with hair of a fire-like red and an insignia like a golden bird over her ample chest.

Another was a man, with a raven-colored mane like a lion's framing his head, who was nothing if not powerfully built.

The fourth was another man, dressed in a fuchsia robe, with only his face and greasy hair visible of him.

The fifth and last was a woman, tall and muscular, and attired in tri-colore armor.

The goddess of avarice moved to bow before the ruler-divinities and her brother, who all looked curiously at her.

"I bring fortuitous news, family of mine," she spoke to the three. "I have stepped beyond the confines of this reality, and there, I gained new knowledge and a unique opportunity to empower the gods. Our Mother Boxes and the Worlogogs should now work once more."

Darkseid hmmed. _"If indeed the divine map, no matter its function as the divine hourglass, works once more, then she is truly proving to be a more reliable child than Grayven ever was,"_ now there was a name Dark Phoenix had not heard in ages.

Desaad, knowing the unshared desire of his god-sovereigns, began walking towards the door. He managed only a few steps before hearing the princess' voice, and her instruction to remain.

"I also," she continued to say, "concretely determined the existence of other planes beyond this one, ripe for the conquest. Thus, I advocate that we immediately depart to do this."

Phoenix responded with just a knowing smile. "Daughter, have we truly not taught you better in these past seventeen years?"

Rachel looked almost befuddled. Darkseid spoke before she could.

"Your mother speaks true," he informed her. "I will not deny that there is a sense of appeal and intrigue to the idea of being a conqueror of universes, but that goal is a foolish one."

The lady of Greed stood up, the look on her asking for elaboration in no uncertain terms.

"Save by means of creating some avatar to do so, one person cannot exist in two domains at once and thus not manage them optimally," elaborated Darkseid. "This holds true even for such as we, arch-gods, and from that is the door for a possible usurpation opened. Thus, it has forever been my preference to rule over just one dominion, be it a planet or a universe."

"If that is what you believe best, father," voiced Rachel, a playful note to her voice, "I will abide by that. However, I have a specific planet in mind for our next conquest," she finished, consciously affecting a dramatic pause.

"Dear," replied Dark Phoenix, lightly amused by the girl's whimsy, "do not play at crypticism."

"The planet that mother was born on," stated Rachel. Nobody present really looked all that surprised to hear that. Kalibak, at most, looked a bit curious. "If best comes to pass, we should leave that world with a handful of new minions."

"You need scarcely convince us," replied Darkseid, pleasantly, as Rachel turned around, to the nine.

Rachel couldn't help... odd at heart, in looking at them. She was only going to ask them to do their duty, and follow her into war; why did that perturb her?

The whole haphazard gang - Koriand'r, Donna, Erza, Yoko, Harriet, Scott, Agogg, Sar, Doul - all met her gaze, and smiled (some, more than others) to Rachel.

"Well, I will not prevaricate, my concubines and warriors, and dare I say, friends, from foreign worlds," opened the goddess, bashfully.

"I do not expect that the Earth will be particularly challenging to conquer, but I will not force anyone among you, my Furies and Marauders, to help us destroy the planet that five of you have once helped to defend and save. The decision to follow me is your own."

Each of the nine reacted differently - Scott with several blinking eyes, Yoko with uncertainty and a cock of her head, Donna with a knowing smile, Doul's expression and posture gave away how little he cared; Rachel began to mentally fret, hoping that she hadn't said anything unpleasant.

The truck-sized dragon was the one who answered. "Mistress," voiced the female wyvern, "I think that we are all going to follow you."

A comfortable silence descended. Rachel smiled. Darkseid spoke up.

"And well you all should, for was it not by us that you were all given immortality, to forevermore savor the joys of living?" the tyranny-god's voice brooked no argument.

In short order, Desaad had fetched them a Father Box; Dark Phoenix had been the one to open the Boom Tube, for it was an astral construct, and her memory of her birth-planet - faint though they were - and objective to return were the very things that it had needed to forge a bridge into that universe and that Earth's local region of three-dimensional space.

Like so, they bridged a span beyond comprehension - not merely the gap and barriers which divided one plane of reality from others, no; their jaunt through the Boom Tube took them to another cluster of universes, one familiar only one among them all.

As they emerged, they all quickly observed that they had emerged into some manner of grassland, without any humans or buildings anywhere in the vicinity, with the local sun high in the sky.

"What now?" voiced Rachel, looking uncertainly to her parents.

"That is what you should inform us and your minions," informed Darkseid. "This invasion is, after all, your idea and your initiative, and victory cannot be as readily grasped if your course is unclear nor if if you falter on the path you set yourself. Now, stride proudly forth as the goddess you are and lay the mortals low," he commanded her.

"Yes, father," smiled the teen. After a moment's contemplation, she spoke, "yes, I see now the path to my victory. Mother, I ask you to aid me now."

_"To what end?"_

_"The enthrallment of every hero upon this planet. We shall start with this land."_

_"Let it be done, then."_

_"Indeed,"_ Darkseid's voice sounded in their minds. The goddess-princess looked blankly at him. _"Daughter, though both you and Phoenix indeed surpass me in prowess as well as experience when it comes to psychic powers, I am not without certain gifts in that field. Have you ever been told about my battle with the Legion of Superheroes?"_

 _"I have,"_ the teen was practically squealing with fangirl glee. _"It still amazes me that you could enthrall so many at once."_

Darkseid dismissed it. Then, the trio set about the task.

The tidal wave of psionic might swept unseen by all across America, detected only by a few - the psychics residing at Xavier's school, Doctor Strange in Greenwich, Martian Manhunter aboard the JLA's satellite, Lilith Clay on her walk down Key West's beach. Its physical effects were more readily felt.

In Keystone City, Wally West and Jay Garrick charged out of his house, much to Linda's surprise, and hit eleven-hundred per hour after the first moments of their jog. On the way, the younger speedster grabbed Jakeem Williams from outside Wilson High, their magical auras shielding them and him from the stresses of superhuman speed, before they reached three-thousand an hour on their run to the prairie in South Dakota.

In San Francisco, the eyes of Bart Allen went blank a moment before he ran to grab Superboy and Terra, and then out of Titans Tower to reach the same destination as his fellow SF-empowered men.

Over in the Westchester region of New York, a number of colorful characters began to exit the school. Some flew off, as Storm and Archangel did, while Kurt made his way away with a series of jumps and brimstone-smoke clouds, though most simply walked out. In separate places, Jean and Charles were trying to undo the enthralling that Scott and Erik had both experienced, by means of both impassioned pleas and their psychic abilities. Outside the main building, Rachel was doing the same for Kitty.

In El Paso, Power Girl and Blue Beetle had been fighting Giganta before they'd flown off and left a befuddled supervillainess and public behind. In Manhattan, Captain Marvel exited the Avengers mansion in the company of Iron Man. Over in Fawcett City, a trio of young people were struck by supernatural lightning, and a trio of demi-gods flew away. From the Baxter Building, a humanoid fire flew out a closed window alongside a woman in a translucent telekinetically-projected sphere.

In many other regions of the continent, the heroes began to move towards the part of South Dakota where they were beckoned to go by the psionic command of the three gods.

Over the moments that followed, a gallery of the fastest heroes - the Flashes, three Kryptonians, Jesse Quick, Quicksilver, - in the United States were assembled upon the field; as the clock ticked one second forward, the four speedsters raced off again, a gust left behind in Pietro's.

Kalibak inspected the seven superheroes, an appreciative glint in his eyes at Superboy. A small part of him wondered uneasily what they might think of him if they were to know that he chose warrior-concubines by their physical traits - it was petty, and he knew it, but this one would suitably fill the harem's missing slot for a man with black hair and pink-white - as much as personalities and abilities.

 _"I share your criteria, brother,"_ his sister's voice sounded in his mind, ever playful and amused.

 _"And I, Kalibak, see no reason why you should concern or restrain yourself with such trivialities,"_ intoned Phoenix mentally, sounding both amused and displeased. _"We are the pantheon of evil, the living power of malevolence that creates all evil and taints all things noble, or has this truth slipped your mind?"_

It hadn't; he decided to not contemplate the issue any further. Rachel scowled.

 _"Your concentration is required,"_ came the mental voice of Darkseid, to his wife and daughter, lightly chiding. The assemblage of controlled heroes was expanded, by Jay Garrick swooping in and dropping a green-skinned young woman off before he moved back out at a speed of eleven-hundred miles per minute.

Kalibak's gaze fixed on Conner. Without moving to face them, he spoke to his family, "Release this one, for I intend to confer."

In his eyes, Kalibak observed the tell-tale signs of consciousness becoming clear.

"Lord Kalibak," he heard the airy voice of the Poisoner, "will my services or Starfire's be required in translating this man's language?" a quick telepathic missive informed him otherwise - through some cosmic coincidence, earthly english and the spoken language of the New Gods were more alike than almost any other two languages in the cosmos, though the similarities were not complete; they had no word for Worlogog, nor concepts to accurately capture what it or a Mother Box was.

Alarmed surprise flashed onto the half-Kryptonian's face, along with a smirk. "Kalibak?" now, he had a chance for payback.

"Indeed," he folded his arms. "This is who I am, earthling, but know this," his voice was almost mirthful to Conner's ear, "I am not the same Kalibak that you might well have crossed paths and traded blows with, as I am certain my choice of words makes adequately clear."

This Kalibak was the sort of villain who pretended they knew what good manners were, it seemed to Superboy. "So, why're you here?" Conner skimmed the crowd behind Kalibak, unease growing in him at the sights of Darkseid and Dark Phoenix.

 _"Apart, those two are a cosmic threat of the worst kind,"_ that, Conner knew for a fact. He didn't want to know what they were capable of doing, together; he needed to get out of here, get everybody - JLA, Avengers, X-Men, Teen Titans, Fantastic Four, Doom Patrol, - and start praying it was enough.

 _"How strange he should think precisely thus,"_ the voice of Dark Phoenix rang in Kalibak mind, amused, _"when we are the only gods that there here are to pray to."_

"We are here to end your world and civilization," informed Kalibak. Ignoring the shock on his face, he went on, "However, I have an offer to make you in relation to that, and it is one that I believe you will appreciate. Come with us," he held his hand out, for the other to accept.

"As one of my Male Marauders, you will have immortality, and every material good that you might desire will be provided you, and we shall be eternal and true friends for you as we roam the stars," asserted the God of Lust. "I recognize, of course, that merely my words alone offer little proof of my good will, so, Yoko, Agogg," he called out, still without moving to look at them, "I ask of ye, speak your minds now to this one."

Agogg was only happy to comply with the wishes of his prince. "Well you can trust in the words of Kalibak, Earthman," his voice ran fuzzy, as he recalled recent memories of Kalibak - of facing him in battle to thrill the body and the soul, of a particularly destructive tryst between himself and him and Donna.

"Agogg speaks true," voiced Yoko. "I was once like you, an earthling seeking to defend my world and its people, almost one-hundred years ago, so your situation is a familiar one to both myself, Erza, Koriand'r, Donna and Scott," surprise flashed against over the half-Kryptonian's features at the mention of the familiar names.

Conner skimmed the area, immediately noticing those three; Cyclops surprised him most, with the plentitude of eyes - on his stomach, his face, his arms. He reminded himself to not analyze the situation, aware Jean was listening.

 _"Jean, you believe me?"_ the red-haired woman's voice filled his mind; it almost startled him just how different - cold disdain in every syllable - this Jean Grey sounded compared to the one he knew. _"Curious. You seem to know me by a name I have long abandoned... perhaps this world's incarnation of I was too weak to strive towards the horizons which my astral might opened up for me? Yes, I suppose it is only that."_

"Believe me, hero, when I say that a life as a servant and soldier of the Gods is a rewarding one," finished Yoko.

"I can only further affirm that sentiment," Erza voiced her assessment of the matter. "By the powers of Apokolips and the will of our Gods, the door was opened for us all to meet people that we would never have if we had continued to live on our own planets in our own universes, and know them as eternal friends."

"Now," Kalibak boomed, "you have heard from three of my allies. What say you, man of earth?"

"Like hell," spat Conner. "You think I'm seriously going to listen to your crazy brainwashed minions, after whatever you've done to Cyclops?" he flew off, appearing as only a dark blur to the gathered Apokoliptians.

"You have carried yourself well, my son,"the voice of Darkseid was nothing if not derisive. "You sought conference, and to place yourself on equal ground, with an enemy, during an invasion of his world. Now, the hero you attempted to sway to your side has taken advantage of your hesitation to flee, and in so doing, perhaps sown the seeds for this operation to become a bitter and laughable failure."

Kalibak stared quietly towards the enthralled heroes. "I recognize fully my folly, Father. I swear that once I see him again, I shall deliver his corpse to you."

"See that you do," instructed the Lord of Apokolips. "I shall be lenient and not administer any punishment, Kalibak, for you served me well by slaying Orion. Know merely this - that gift of mercy will suffice as all the favor that act has gained you from my side."

Now, Rachel understood what her brother had meant with what he'd so often told her. _"Darkseid only loves his children as well as they serve his goals and desires. Grayven, wherever he now is, was a pathetic imitation and failure of our father, and now Kalibak is slipping from his good graces. I must be careful, lest I suffer their fate."_

"I shall not fail you, Father," promised Rachel, eagerly, knowing how much it annoyed Kalibak to know that their father favored her. "I shall give you this planet, before this day is done."

Darkseid didn't answer, watching her with his typical deadpan look. "I do not doubt your intent, but the manner in which you approach this goal leaves something to be desired, daughter."

Rachel looked crestfallen. "In what way have I displeased you, Father?"

"You have displayed a very mortal misapprehension of size and distance," he informed her. "It well might be because of the ease by which we traverse reality, and reach foreign planets and galaxies, but a world is much larger than you believe it. To conquer every corner and every child of this planet by physical force, even such as an assemblage of all Earth's heroes, would either prove impossible or take weeks of unceasing work."

Wordlessly, Dark Phoenix bid her to follow them in astral projection. A small part of Rachel felt uneasy about that particular psionic technique, but decided to follow her mother's instruction.

It felt like nothing as much as opening her eyes all over again; her gaze skimmed the sight.

The void extended beyond them, never-ending and serene. The horizons of space were illuminated by stars beyond counting. Before her was a small sphere, hued primarily blue and adorned with white shapes that she didn't recognize.

As well, she observed her parents as present.

Her mother's hair was ablaze, the flames and tresses swept in every direction, as was much else of her - all silent burning and shining. Now, better than ever before, she understood why her mother was the Goddess of Fire and Life - she was like a sun to behold, and almost too bright for her to bear to look at. In contrast and comparison to her, father was himself a shining example of how power was to flaunted for all to see, albeit not in the same way as she.

 _"This is the way that a arch-deity conquers a planet,"_ the voice of Darkseid echoed, something Phoenix recognized as an affectation. _"From afar, in a form great enough to hold a world in one's hands, and with power enough to crush every living thing that one might rebuild however one desires."_

Rachel knew what he might say next, something similar to 'take heed of this lesson, child'. Darkseid's stony eyebrows arched a smidge, uncertain if he was this predictable. Dark Phoenix conveyed a thought, a mild apology expressed in three words.

 _"I shall take my leave of you now,"_ communed the slight-figured teen, her mind's eyes glancing at the globe. _"I have business on the planet."_

Her spirit left their company almost immediately she finished. Once she was in her body again, she ran, one wish in mind. The plain-lands dropped away from her gaze, and were replaced by the comely trappings of the Xavier Academy's main living room.

Over by the TV, the X-Woman who'd once hosted the Phoenix Force sat with Kitty, their foreheads. Immediately, she detected the astral presence of the new visitor, and hurried to sit up.

Close to the room's center, the princess of Apokolips shot a scowl at the other, looking her over.

"Come," commanded the goddess to the earthling, "your executioner awaits."

Rachel glared back; she didn't understand why an alternate-reality version of her wanted to kill her, but she wasn't going to take a death threat lightly.

"Can I at least ask why, first?" voiced the former Phoenix host.

The other's face began to gibber with rage, at the mere question. "YOU DARE?!" hollered the pissed-off deity. "You, mortal, are the bane of my existence, an affront to my sacred honor," every word was growled out, "and I have come to rid myself of the walking indignity that is you."

The X-Woman glanced uncertainly, mind reaching out only to find a barrier in the stranger's mind. _"Either she's a psychic, very disciplined, or both."_ "I still don't understand what I'm supposed to have to upset you."

"Very well," the alien deity glowered. "I shall explain it in detail, so simply that even your feeble mortal mind can understand the matter. We two are born of the same mother, Dark Phoenix," disclosed Rachel. Surprise flashed on Rachel's face at the mention of her mother's possessed identity.

"Why she decided to, I know not, but she gave me the same name as you, and therein lies my shame," informed the extraterrestrial. "As long as you live, I will forever be just a reflection of you and all others, a mere potential life we might have lived. As a goddess, I deserve far better than that."

The mutant opened her mouth to speak. The other Rachel raced forward. To her ears and eyes, the external world now appeared so greatly slowed that nothing was happening. Only a thoroughly slurred fraction of a syllable escaped the other incarnation of her as the other incarnation of her ran.

Both of the X-Women were dealt blows - Rachel by a punch with so much force it ripped through her stomach, Kitty in and through the stomach too by the bloodied hand after the goddess had withdrawn it.

For a moment, the bits of broken mutant remained still in the air. The goddess breathed out. The blood and broken bone flew, while the two of them fell.

Rachel cast a glance at her handiwork, feeling pleased as punch at the death of the pretender to her name. An ill-natured laugh escaped her as Rachel strode towards Rachel.

For the better part of the twelve minutes, the daughter of Dark Phoenix and Darkseid stayed at the school. When she departed, she left a ruined heap of blood and flesh and broken bones and a crushed soul for Charles to find whenever he did.

She made a step forward, moving in the four-dimensional way that she could, and immediately went from Westchester to the grassland in South Dakota.

The first thing that she took notice of was the long row of heroes - _"Quite a colorful bunch." -_ that stretched far, both to the left and the right.

"Has anything transpired here?" voiced Rachel, to them all.

It was Kalibak who answered, "Nothing unwelcome, Rachel. Perhaps you can help decide a matter," he gestured left. She followed his gaze, to behold a blonde woman in an attire of blue, red and gold. "The red in the blue suit is one of the earth-heroes called Captain Marvel, and I feel that she would make a good companion and Fury. However, there is another here who I find equally suitable for sharing many of Captain Marvel's traits," he pointed towards the far right end.

She looked that way, only spotting who she believed he meant after glancing past the first one-hundred-and-thirty. "Do you speak of the woman in the white with that extraordinary cleavage, brother? If, I wholeheartedly choose her," the coyness in her voice was almost tangible.

"I once attempted to acquire a Kryptonian for the Female Furies," spoke Darkseid to his son and daughter. Both looked curiously his way. "This was a pursuit I have long regarded as fruitless. It pleases me to know that you have realized that old idle goal of mine, daughter."

"Thank you, father," she beamed.

 _"Surely this does not surprise you,"_ communed Phoenix. _"She is our child, and well educated as well. It is only natural that any and every foe should fall before her."_

 _"I will admit, it surprises me somewhat that the conquest of this planet has happened so readily,"_ related Darkseid, _"though I suppose_ that _should be anything but a surprise. Individually, we have only grown much since last I tried, and by our shared life is our bolstered strength heightened many times over. Thus, we are the end of the universe, Dark Phoenix."_

Dark Phoenix responded not with a telepathically-related word, but with a pleased smile. _"Ever sweet, my love, to hear you speak thus. I find myself in the mood for unnecessary cruelty,"_ the psychically-powerful goddess gave the assemblage her attention, a smirk gracing her face.

Power Girl raised her hands, gripping the throat of the Kryptonian girl who had been placed next to her. Neither compelled-assailant nor the victim offered any resistance, at least not any that could physically be seen. A deadened crack came soon from the teen's neck.

With only the same unemotional look on her face and only a complete lack of concern in her body language, the adult Kryptonian released the younger girl, and let her fall to the ground.

Dark Phoenix thought the act mildly amusing, though a touch bland for merely being the snapping of a neck. Darkseid telepathically relayed that, with the abundance of warriors here and the billions of souls yet waiting, there was endless opportunity for them to refine their prowess in the art and science of murder ahead.


End file.
